


Housecall

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: ...in terms of story length not time of day, ASIT References, Addiction, Anal Sex, Cardassian Anatomy, Companionable Snark, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Instability, POV Elim Garak, Recovery, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Withdrawal, questionable morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: After the events in The Wire, Julian tries his best to support a reluctant Garak through the withdrawal. But Garak isn't very good at admitting weakness, much less accepting help. Or ignoring the heart and body of the person who wants to help.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 79
Kudos: 175





	1. A Visit from Dr. Bashir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: addiction, withdrawal, panic attack, thoughts of suicide and death

Garak lay on his firm, narrow, Cardassian bed, on his side, covered in three blankets. His entire body hurt. His muscles throbbed abominably (all of them), his stomach felt like it was filled with swamp water that wanted to seep out, his head was… woozy, and--he wasn’t sure how it was possible--his bones ached.

The heating lamp that Dr. Bashir had managed to find among the leftover debris of the Occupation and reinstall over his bed shone down rosily, warming his head like a hot cloth smothering his scales.

He loathed it.

It did exactly as it was supposed to, and nothing more. Despite the UVA and UVB rays it emitted, there was very little illumination to be had. It was a far cry from the Cardassian sun, and he could full well understand why so many officers on Terok Nor left the station as soon and often as possible to return home.

He wouldn’t feel sorry for himself.

That was pointless.

He wouldn’t.

The warble from his door chime was a welcome distraction from his thoughts, even if the idea of a guest wasn’t. He ignored it anyway. Whoever it was would assume he was sleeping or not home and leave.

The door trilled again.

Garak groaned, closed his eyes, and tried to will himself back to sleep.

The silence told him that his visitor had given up.

Until an odd _beep-BLEEP_ sounded. An override. The door hissed open.

He knew that he should get up, greet the intruder, throw them off balance with a welcome and disquieting smile as if he’d been expecting their company.

But he couldn’t dredge up enough energy to really care.

“Garak?” Dr. Bashir's voice called out from the other room. Of course that’s who it was. No one else would dare break into his room, except for maybe Constable Odo, and Garak hadn’t done anything worthy of the shape-shifter’s attention. At least not in the past week.

The human doctor appeared at the periphery of his vision, wavering apprehensively in the doorway to the bedroom. The gust of breath he let out was surely too large to have fit in that slim chest, sounding relieved and exasperated and maybe even a tiny bit fond.

 _Go away_ , Garak thought at him. But Julian held not a drop of Betazoid in his blood, as he had so amply proven on a dozen occasions. So instead of leaving the exile to his misery, he wandered over to the side of the bed to peer anxiously at his subject.

“You seemed fine a few days ago, but when I went to lunch today, I saw that your shop was closed.” Was it that late already? Julian sounded hesitant. “It was closed yesterday, too.”

Garak rallied enough brainpower to formulate a reply and run his mouth. “I’m sorry, Doctor, were you in need of my services?” Of course he wasn’t. He was simply an insufferable busybody inserting himself into other people’s business. Unfortunately, he had the medical degree to justify his meddling.

To Garak’s consternation, Julian took a step closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking advantage of the minimal space along his side. The Human looked down, not meeting his eyes. “Look, I know it’s tough right now. With the implant gone, you’re probably experiencing all sorts of withdrawal symptoms.” His hazel eyes darted over quickly, then away. “The headaches are going to last for a while, and I’ll keep giving you painkillers for them. But as for the rest of the side effects, you’re going to have to tell me what they are, so I can treat them.” He turned a little to look over Garak’s body. “Most likely nausea, muscle pain, loss of focus.” His left hand twitched. “Depression.”

The doctor was entirely too observant. Or maybe just thoroughly informed. Seeing as how he _was_ a medical professional and _had_ just received a great deal of files on Cardassian physiology from Enabran Tain.

Which meant that Julian wasn’t going anywhere until he felt like he’d done a little good. Not until he saw evidence that his patient was improving, on the mend.

“I assure you, Doctor, I have suffered none of the troubles you suggested. We Cardassians are quite a hardy species, mentally and physically robust. I’m simply allowing myself a brief vacation from the drudgery of tailoring for a host of clients who hold no inherent sense of style, no appreciation for the characters of various fabrics, and no comprehension of the time and effort required to complete custom orders. I had just finished a period of deep meditation and reached a point of serenity and relaxation when you so inconsiderately barged into my quarters.”

Rather than look sheepish or admonished, Julian merely quirked an eyebrow and held up a tricorder in his right hand. It had been out of sight until now. “Well, according to this, you have a buildup of cantraxic acid in your organs, your blood vessels have constricted and raised your blood pressure, your skin is dry, and your digestive system is in distress. Which means, _Mr. Garak_ , that you are malnourished, dehydrated, and have not been physically active in _at least_ the past 52 hours. And have probably been clenching your muscles with regularity, which would imply pain, discomfort, or emotional upset.” He pointed the instrument menacingly at Garak’s forehead. “Shall I scan here as well for a full diagnosis?”

Garak jerked back, immobilizing the doctor’s wrist in his hand. “That won’t be necessary,” he answered silkily, despite the rough grip he maintained. The skin beneath his was so hot as to be feverish by Cardassian standards, and he let go with no small measure of reluctance. “I must ask: is it normal for human doctors to make unwanted housecalls? I don’t remember requesting your… _presence,_ much less your diagnosis or assistance.”

Julian lowered the tricorder, leveling a stare back at him. “It’s not as if you ever _ask_ for help, Garak. And like it or not, you _are_ my patient. And my friend.” He swallowed then, ducking his head as if embarrassed or self-conscious. “I don’t intend on letting you neglect yourself to the point of further harm.”

It softened Garak’s icy demeanor, if only a little. While the doctor’s attention was unasked for, he didn’t want to punish the tender-hearted man for his actions. He decided to ignore--for the time being--the fact that Julian had called him a friend. “Your concern is noted and appreciated, Doctor, if misplaced.” To demonstrate that all was well, he patted the knee that now rested beside him benignly. “In fact, if you’d be so kind as to let me out of my bed,” he glanced meaningfully at the body pinning his blankets down, “I will make use of the facilities and change into my day clothes.”

Julian stood gracefully, swinging an arm out. “Be my guest.”

“A guest in my very own home!” Garak sniped peevishly as he sat up. “How like the Federation to intrude where they’re not welcome, pass judgement, set up and enforce its _own_ standards of living, and then magnanimously _permit_ me to relieve and clothe myself.”

At this, Julian crossed his arms, tricorder hanging loosely below. “I don’t know. That sounds positively _Cardassian_ to me. I’m sure the Bajorans would agree.”

Garak sized up his antagonist. The young doctor certainly was growing bolder. “And yet the Federation has the gall to think that their own way is the better, _kinder_ way. No matter that _other_ civilizations might have differing views.”

“Oh, I don’t deny that there can be merit in every culture having its own distinctive philosophies and customs. The Federation only steps in when one race decides to impose its laws and ideas on _another_ , _unwilling_ race. And I think we can both agree that the Bajorans were not consenting to their rule by Cardassia.”

Those damned Fedraji morals! “But what about when a race doesn’t know what’s best for it? Should you just stand aside and let them fumble about, struggling and failing?”

“Yes! That’s one of the main tenets of the Prime Directive! Peoples learn best when left to make their own mistakes and discoveries. That’s how a society _grows.”_

“Ah! So wouldn’t that imply that you should let me make _my own_ mistakes and discoveries, rather than removing my initiative to replace it with yours?”

But Julian wouldn’t let Garak have his victory. “For one, you’re an _individual_ , not an entire population. Secondly, you’re under a doctor’s care. That means you are expected to respect my significant knowledge and expertise over your own in regards to your health.” He stepped back over to the bed. “Now, are you going to show me that you’re capable of taking care of yourself, or should I conduct a full examination?”

Well. That wouldn’t do. Feeling far more invigorated than fifteen minutes previously, Garak flung back his covers and stood up. To his dismay, the walls started to spin as dark blotches swam across his vision. Julian flung an arm out to steady him, easing him back down to be seated on the bed. 

“Easy. Easy now,” the Human said solicitously, all righteous demeanor gone. “Your blood pressure probably dropped when you got up so suddenly, since you haven’t been eating or drinking enough. You’ll be fine in a moment.” He kept a hand on Garak’s shoulder, peering into each eye to monitor for other signs but mercifully leaving the tricorder unused. “Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll help you to the refresher.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I’m fine now.” Garak raised back up, only to find that Julian had set the device down so that he could put an arm around his waist for support. “Really now, that’s hardly necessary! I’m not a feeble old man.”

Julian chuckled and released him. “No, just a stubborn and crotchety one.”

Rather than dignify that with a response, Garak shut the door in his smug face.

He conducted his business quickly and efficiently, not only to prove to himself that he could, but because he wouldn’t put it past the doctor to come in after him if he took too long. He supposed it would be asking too much for Julian to have left by the time he emerged. It would be just like him to suggest helping Garak get dressed, and that was an indignity he’d rather be spared.

When he stepped out, his first thought was that his wish had been granted; the bedroom was empty. But the confident voice dispensing orders to the replicator in the other room quickly disabused him of the notion. He hurriedly dressed himself to prevent whatever mess Julian was cooking up in his dining area, but the damage was already done. He walked in to find the table covered in plates and bowls of Cardassian cuisine. Sunrise, midday, and sunset courses were laid out in no particular pattern, their aromas intermingling unpleasantly. 

The doctor delivered a final glass to the table. “I finally convinced Chief O’Brien to install a bunch of Cardassian recipes into the replicators!” he announced proudly. He perused the table for an empty space to set the drink, seeming to just now realize the mess he’d produced. “I… wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so…” He waved a hand over the buffet. “A broth might be a good place to begin,” he offered.

Garak glanced over the ikri buns, regova eggs, elta leaves, hevrit fillets, and other assorted foods. He hated to disappoint after so much work. “I apologize, Doctor, but I really don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”

Julian pulled out a chair for him, which he took reluctantly. “That’s common enough during withdrawal. But if you don’t try something, you’re only going to feel worse. Here, how about some Sem’hal stew.” He rearranged a few dishes to place it in front of Garak, then stood there expectantly with his hands clasped behind his back.

Garak sighed. “There’s no need to hover like a nursemaid. In fact, rather than let all your preparations go to waste, why don’t you join me? Unless you’ve already eaten your lunch?”

“No, I came here instead.” Julian seated himself at the opposite side of the table. “And it’s a good thing, too.” He watched as Garak tucked a napkin into his collar, then hurriedly placed one across his lap and glanced back up for approval. 

The tailor nodded once, baffled and a bit dismayed that even after all this, the younger man still looked to him as a role model and basked in his praise. The quick, bashful grin he received in return melted a thin layer of ice around his heart and reminded him why it was so easy to play along. That face alone could cure a hundred ailments with nothing more than a twinkle of the eye and quirk of the lips.

Garak scolded himself over his rising sentimentality and took a bite of stew. After two days of deprivation, it was warm and rich and extraordinarily welcome in his mouth. His stomach gurgled a demand for more, and he obliged, ignoring the amused expression across from him. After a solid minute and five more bites, he became aware that the soup tasted rather saltier and thicker than he was used to. “Doctor, did you perchance fiddle with the recipe? I don’t recall Sem’hal being quite so… _savory._ ”

Julian swallowed down whatever he was chewing and dabbed at his mouth. “I tried to add a few more nutrients and electrolytes, things to replace what you’ve been missing. It was the closest I could come to chicken noodle soup, which is an ancient dish from Earth but still one of the most helpful when a human is ill. It’s not too bad, is it?”

“No, no it’s fine. I only hope you didn’t do that to the neemuk filet as well. Salt does _not_ complement the egg broth.”

“That’s the, er, blue one, right?” Garak nodded. “It smelled kind of milky, so no, I didn’t. And the steak already had plenty of protein in it. What _is_ neemuk, anyway?”

Garak debated whether to tell him the truth or not. He decided he wasn’t feeling particularly creative at the moment and stuck to the facts. “Despite being served as a steak, neemuk, or nee’muk, depending on which province you’re from, is actually an algae that grows in mats over pools of fresh water.”

Julian lit up. “Like cyanobacteria!”

Garak had no idea what he was referring to, but didn’t want to appear uninformed. “ _Precisely_. It can be served raw in stews or flattened into patties, which are cooked and referred to as filets, because they’re rare and tender, even more so than our herdbeasts. The freshwater needed to raise neemuk is in short supply on Cardassia, as you can imagine.”

The human munched in thought for a moment. “Don’t you have desalination plants and all that? You’ve plenty of oceans.”

“And all of it goes straight into the public water system, I assure you. It’s not set aside for frivolous pursuits or exotic dishes.”

Julian frowned. “But what about bathhouses? Surely those aren’t a public necessity.”

“Perhaps not where you’re from, but on Cardassia, they’re a focal point of communities. Families congregate there, business is conducted in the private pools, young adults spend their evenings there after school and chores are taken care of.”

“That’s _fascinating."_ Julian traded his empty plate for one full of ikri buns.

Garak eyed them warily. Normally, the sweet, doughy confections were a favorite of his, but today they looked revoltingly saccharine. And Julian, the uncultured human, wasn’t even consuming one with a proper gelat. Garak was going to have to correct him on that at some point. Mistaking the focused attention for interest, Julian broke one in half and offered a piece.

Garak took it automatically but placed it on a plate rather than in his mouth. Surely the human didn’t know the social significance of sharing food with another. Not just from the same plate, but the same _item_. One only did that with a family member, or someone they were courting. How was it that Starfleet officers were often so ignorant of others customs?

He frowned at the bun, trying to determine if his lunch companion would be hurt if he refused to eat it. Julian would probably be terribly gracious about it if Garak explained that he simply wasn’t in the mood for sweets at the moment, but there would be a little pout on his mouth, a downward turn in the cheek, and he really hated the thought of disappointing the young doctor…

He picked up the ikri bun and took a nibble.

His stomach lurched immediately. Garak’s mouth filled with saliva as his gag reflex kicked in, and it was all he could do not to vomit right there on the table. He swallowed furiously and set the bread back down, unaware of whether it even reached a plate. His other hand gripped tightly at the edge of the table, the corner digging into his palm.

Perceptive eyes monitored him from across the way. Julian removed the napkin from his lap and poised awkwardly on his chair, ready to get up at a moment’s notice if the other man appeared to need help.

Garak swallowed harshly again, desperate to wash every last trace of sugar from his mouth. How long was he going to have to put up with this? An invalid, a sickling, nauseated and in pain, barely able to care for himself? Would it get worse before it got better? Would he end up in the infirmary, or with one of those dratted beds back in his quarters, with nurses, doctors, and equipment surrounding him?

The idea revolted him so deeply that he shoved his chair back without thinking and charged out of it, stalking into his sitting area. Would they move his furniture, break another vase? Leave indentations on the carpet, an antiseptic smell in the air? 

Would he lose control of his faculties, his dignity? Would the Bajorans see him weakened and infirm, babbling away and incontinent?

Had they before? Had he? He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t.

Remember.

_ <Garak?> _

Head spinning, he paced back and forth. His feet prickled from disuse, his ankles and knees ached with the effort. His hands began to tingle and his breath to grow short.

He couldn’t survive like this. He couldn’t take another day, another week, another _month_ of aches and upset stomachs, pounding head, straining muscles, hot and cold flashes, sleep that was dreadful whether accompanied by nightmares or as deep and black as space.

_ <Garak.> _

He couldn’t take another _moment_ of this.

He had to get out of here, or find something to numb this, or _end_ this before it was too late, before he began to fall apart, for the fabric to fade and the stitching to come undone and the hems to come unraveled…

_ <GARAK.> _

He strode to the window, but it was too thick to break and sealed shut. 

The refresher. There might be some pills, a hypo, something hidden, something they missed when they swept his quarters, hidden away. Something to take the edge off, to make him blissfully numb, or maybe just to wipe his mind altogether and stop his heart…

Arms and legs trembling, he rushed from the room. 

“ELIM!”

Something broke through, a tiny slice through the veil, and he froze. The bulkheads spun around, and a face appeared in front of him. It was mouthing words, but he couldn’t hear what they said. 

He was going to die. 

His brain was going to seize up, his pumping heart would halt, his lungs cease their inhalations. His sight grew black around the edges, framing the alarmed expression that was now the only thing he could see.

There was something about those eyes that drew his attention, and he stared blindly into the inky pools surrounded by cinnamon and moss even as his legs gave way and he felt himself being lowered to the floor.

The sharp corner of the doorway pressed into his back.

Next came the sensation of one hand on his shoulder, another on his knee.

A muffled voice faded in, distorted as if underwater.

“--panic attack… come back to me now… a deep breath… look at me…”

Wasn’t he already looking at him?

“If you can hear what I’m saying, squeeze my hand. Nice and hard. If you don’t respond, I’m going to have to get the tricorder, and I know you don’t want that.”

When had the doctor taken his hand?

Soft, silky skin was curled around his fingers and palm, a thumb sweeping back and forth over the veins on the back of his hand.

“Garak? Can you hear me? Can you feel that?”

Hadn’t he answered?

“Alright. That’s it, Garak. I’m getting the tricorder, and I’m calling the infirmary. I’m going to give you a physical and a cranial scan, and you’re going to have to wear one of those hideous purple gowns the whole time. I’m going to take pictures. I’m going to show them to Quark and Odo. And Jadzia. And Morn. And… and Gul Dukat.”

Garak’s eyes squinted. His hands tightened. 

Skrain.

Dukat.

He squeezed harder.

Julian yelped. “Okay! Okay, I won’t show Dukat.” He lowered down to stare into Garak’s eyes from a rather short distance away. “Are you in there?”

He was so close.

Kiss or kill distance.

“Garak, I’m losing feeling in my hand.”

Kiss?

Or kill?

“ _Elim.”_

Garak blinked rapidly a few times. It was as if all of his systems snapped online at once, and his vision cleared.

“Doctor. I’m so proud of you. You figured out my name based on those stories I told you? There may be hope for you yet.”

Julian shook the blood flow back into his hand, grinning ruefully. “Well, at least you still have a strong grip.” He settled down on the floor, one spindly knee in the air. “Actually, Tain told me. I asked him who Elim was.”

Tain.

Of course.

One more nail in the coffin, one more taunt, one more bitter reminder that his identity and his secrets were worthless now. _See?_ The old man jeered at him from behind the scenes. _You’re no spy if everyone knows your name. If they know how weak you are at the mercy of that device in your head. But you won’t escape your fate. I’ll give them enough to save you, enough that you’ll only survive, but never thrive. No, instead you’ll wither away from shame and despair. A long, slow, painful death._

“Garak? Are you okay now? Can I… May I call you Elim?”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Garak replied automatically. To soften the admonishment, he added, “‘I’ve gone by Garak for so long that it really feels more like my name these days. Elim was… somebody else.”

The doctor folded his hands on the raised knee and rested his chin on top. “I just… thought that friends would use each other’s first names. Like Miles and Jadzia. Although I guess that might just be a Human or Trill thing. Some races don’t even have more than one name; others have a dozen. But you can still call me Julian.”

 _Julian._ It was a beautiful name, if a tad difficult to pronounce for a Cardassian mouth. _Zhu-lee-ahn_ perhaps, or maybe _Jee-oo-leon._ His tongue tapped against his teeth as he tried it out in his head.

“You do sort of look like a Garak,” Julian continued. “Although. Hm. Your eyes kind of look more like an Elim. I would expect a Garak to have brown eyes.”

His eyes. That erotic shade of “fuck-me blue” found in women’s makeup that had made him such an asset in his early years. Elim with the voice like honey and eyes like sin. Capable of throwing a gul off his tirade with a sensual smile, then eviscerating his allegations with wit and logic sharper than any scalpel. Beautiful and dangerous.

Not so different from the young man practically in his lap right now.

“And how would you even know what a Garak would look like, Doctor? Have you spent much time on Cardassia?” He meant for it to come out acidic, blatantly rude, and to put the presumptuous child back in his place, but he mostly just sounded tired.

“No, I can’t say that I have. It’s just one of those things, like if someone asked you what a targ was and you didn’t know. You might not know that it’s furry and grayish-brown with spikes down its back, but you’d _definitely_ know it wasn’t pink and floofy.”

Garak didn’t know the first thing about ‘floofy,’ and he really didn’t care. “Doctor, as fascinating as the twists and turns through the maze of your psyche may be, for the moment I’d prefer to navigate my way off the floor if you don’t mind.”

The human popped up right away. “No, not at all! Here.” He held his hand out, and this time Garak took it, surprised at the strength and sturdiness hidden behind the wire-thin frame. 

A sudden heaviness settled back down on his shoulders, and exhaustion rolled back in. “I’m afraid I seem to have run out of my reserves. You’ll have to excuse me, but I think I’m going to turn back in to bed.”

He could feel Julian’s eyes drilling into his back as he put distance between them, then on his side as he sat on the bed and toed his slippers off.

After working up some courage, the doctor spoke. “Garak, I--” he cleared his throat. “I really don’t think you should be left alone for now.” He clenched a hand at his side and straightened his back. “My professional opinion is that you’re at a very vulnerable point, and you’re at risk of malnutrition and dehydration from neglect, and in danger of backsliding, especially if you’ve managed to hide any more triptacederine around here. Not to mention vulnerable to physical or mental illness due to the effects of withdrawal from the removal of the implant.”

Garak looked down at his clothes, not wishing to wrinkle them up when he crawled back into bed. But he wasn’t about to undress in front of Dr. Bashir. He gritted his teeth and slung back the covers to climb inside. “Your concern is touching, my dear Doctor. But I assure you that everything is in order. I have my reading, my work, and thanks to you, a table full of solids and liquids to keep my stomach filled. Don’t worry yourself about this particular patient.” He leaned against the bulkhead and flipped the blankets over his legs. “Besides, your lunch break is just about over, isn’t it?”

Julian scrunched his eyebrows together, forehead wrinkling up in a frown. Garak could almost see the lights sparking in his conduits as he thought. He switched over to his silkiest, most persuasive voice, one that had the ability to soothe the conscious brain while inserting a firm command into the subconscious. “Thank you ever so much for coming to check on me. As you can see, I’m in _no_ danger here.” He spread his hands out over the empty bed and immaculate room. “You run along back to the infirmary and see to your patients and lab specimens and research. They’re all in _desperate_ need of your genius and attention. The Federation is _so_ lucky to have such a determined and passionate doctor as yourself.” He lowered his voice to just the right amount of gentle authority. “I will be just fine. You may go.”

Throughout his speech, the young man’s face had run the gamut of emotions from incredulous to flattered to appeased. But now it looked curiously blank, as if some function in front had been turned off and only the background programs were running. Julian spoke, but what he said seemed to come from autopilot, and his eyes flitted everywhere but in Garak’s direction. “Quite right, yes,” he agreed easily. “I’ll just be going now. It’s good to see you’re adjusting so well. I’m glad I could help.” He nodded insincerely and stepped back, then turned heel and headed briskly for the exit.

“Bye, Garak!” he called from the other room before the whoosh of the door signified his leaving.

What under the Blind Moon had that been about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is Thanksgiving, and I am thankful for Deep Space Nine, because it introduced me to:  
> \- Julian and Garak  
> \- GILGILGIQ/JILJILJIQ/Garashir Gallery  
> \- AO3  
> \- the Sid City Social Club  
> Without these communities, I might not have made it through this year. If I am Garak, they are my Julian.


	2. The Doctor Returns

Garak put off wondering about what had come over the doctor in favor of dragging himself back out of bed to change into something more comfortable. The sleepwear he’d originally been wearing would need a sonic cleanse, but he did have a backup set in deep green Terran satin. Smooth on the scales and warm on contact. It was fancier than he would prefer to wear in his current state, but still better than the complete outfit he’d donned to appease his guest.

His muscles didn’t ache nearly to the extent they had earlier, and he wondered why that was. Perhaps that… unfortunate episode had acted as a catharsis and purged some of his pent up misery. Or it _could_ have been the arrival of company, or at least the distraction provided by said company. Which would imply that he really ought to get out of his quarters and into public if he didn’t want to feel so alone.

But dealing with the public meant _all_ of the public, which meant the Bajorans who would inevitably sneer at him, and Odo who would try to pry into his business, and Quark who would no doubt try to sell him something else. Although, actually, a visit to the bartending Ferengi might be in order soon. Especially since the doctor hadn’t actually left any painkillers or anti-nausea medication behind when he left. Anything that came out of the replicator would be next to useless, and Quark might have more luck this time around, with something much easier to come by than classified Cardassian biotechnology.

Garak mulled over all this in the refresher as he combed his hair back into place and poked at a neck scale that was taking longer than usual to finally let go. He applied more oil to the area and resolved to just rip it off if it wasn’t gone on its own in 26 hours. 

His body was far from peak condition, and he hated the idea that his mental state could so thoroughly compromise his physical one. A wave of revulsion swept through him as he pictured his gloomy thoughts turning into noxious toxins that oozed through his blood and polluted his tissues. He’d always had an overactive imagination for a Cardassian.

Which could be both a blessing and a curse as a tailor. On the one hand, it allowed him to work almost intuitively on custom designs for his clients, able to determine how best to arrange the fabric to drape _just right_ over the chest or down the hips. On the other hand, it meant that he was also all too capable of picturing the body _beneath_ the clothing, which could be pleasant (that Dabo girl Leeta, Lieutenant Dax), mildly disturbing (Morn, Quark, Rom), or _highly_ disturbing (the dear Doctor Bashir).

Before he could become even more bothered by the pictures flitting through his mind, his door trilled for the second time that day. He was halfway to the entrance before realizing he wasn’t dressed presentably. Ah well. If it was obvious his rest was being interrupted, then his visitor would be more likely to apologize and leave him alone. He ordered the computer to open the door.

It was Doctor Bashir again.

“Doctor? Did you forget something?” Garak knew full well the human hadn’t, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had prompted his return.

To his astonishment, Julian shouldered his way in. Politely, of course, but also firmly and assertively. He swung in a tight circle and grabbed at the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “The opposite, actually. I’ve brought some things.”

“You come bearing gifts? How thoughtful of you.” Secretly, Garak dreaded discovering just what those gifts would be. Vitamin supplements? Protein bars? If there was a neural scanner in that bag…

“Well, I do have some painkillers.” He unzipped the flap and pulled out two containers. “Pill and hypo form, depending on what you prefer.” But instead of handing them over, he shoved them back inside and pulled out something else. “Some nausea relief, chemically calibrated to be compatible with the Cardassian constitution.” He grinned goofily, proud of his alliteration. “That means it’ll work with both your stomach _and_ your gizzard.” He handed off that bottle readily.

Garak accepted it but frowned, unhappy that he wasn’t trusted with the stronger medication. True, he’d abused much more potent substances already, but still.

Julian pointed out a few more things inside his bag. “Some hot and cold compresses that last longer than the ones programmed in the replicator, some tinted contacts if your eyes are feeling sensitive, let’s see… massage lotion for your sore muscles, and of course some vitamins and supplements...”

There was an awful lot for him to shift aside in there. “Doctor, do I see clothing in there? I assure you, I have plenty already. I am, in fact, a tailor.”

Although he might be a little touched if the young man had gone through the trouble of finding him some sort of special clothing that was made to be gentle on scales, or whatever someone like him would deem necessary. It could be pleasant to feel something that had passed through Julian’s hands pressed to his skin.

“Ah, no, actually. That’s for me.” He strode over to the sofa and dropped the bag next to it. “I’m staying here for a bit.”

All thoughts of sweetness and sentimentality vanished. The nerve!

“You most certainly are not!” Garak denied vehemently.

“I most certainly _am so_.” Julian plopped down on the sofa defiantly, looking unimpressed.

The headache made a rapid return, although it seemed to be originating from about 3 meters outside of Garak’s head. Straight in front of him, in fact. And sporting distinctly non-ridged, light brown skin.

“Doctor, I don’t know what you think you’re doing--”

“Ah! Let me stop you right there. I’m not your doctor any more.” Julian bounded back up and jauntily crossed his arms. “I turned over your treatment and files to Dr. Girani.”

“Then what in the Seven Sands are you _doing_ here?”

“Taking care of you.”

“I do _not_ need you to take care of me.”

“I beg to differ. Garak, as _a_ doctor, I know what you need. After what you’ve been through, you need a good bit of counseling, plenty of sleep, a healthy and well-hydrated diet, some exercise, and humanoid company. Do you know what we do when a patient isn’t capable of maintaining all that, or simply refuses to?”

“I don’t suppose it’s ‘leave them to their own devices?’”

“We contact a family member. Or a close friend. Someone to keep an eye on them, check in. Maybe even move in for a while.”

Oh no. “No.”

“Yes. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t prescribe the same treatment for you as I would any other patient?”

Garak strode forward but kept a chair between them so he wouldn’t be tempted to wring that alluring yet aggravating neck. “You just said you’re _not_ my doctor.”

“Yes, well, Dr. Girani is still a Starfleet physician, trained in the same medical practices of the Federation as I was. She concurs that you should remain in the company of your next-of-kin until you show signs of improvement.”

Garak didn’t like where this was going. “I don’t have a next-of-kin.” Not that anyone on the station was aware of, anyway.

Julian suddenly turned his face away, doing a poor job of hiding the flush that had crept across his cheeks. “Um. About that.” He grimaced and wrung his hands. “Why don’t you sit down, Garak? You’re looking awful pale.” He sank back down on the sofa to set a good example.

Reluctantly, Garak followed, settling stiffly at the edge of the matching seat.

“When you were… dying from the implant… you weren’t always conscious enough to consent to being treated. When that happens, the decisions always fall to the next-of-kin. But like you said, you don’t have any. Normally, we’d have Federation protocols to fall back on. Only, you’re not a member of the Federation or an allied nation. So, we’d have to establish contact with your government and determine what was legally permissible and so forth.”

The headache was growing stronger, pressing right behind his forehead ridges, and the lights were beginning to look even brighter than usual. They lanced into his eyes, and he tried not to wince visibly in front of the babbling human, who had started gesturing as he spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d want me discussing your medical records with Gul Dukat or have _him_ deciding what we did to you, so that was off the table. So I figured the easiest thing to do would be to list myself as your next-of-kin. The non-blood-relation, non-spousal type.”

Well. That, at least, was a relief.

“Doctor, you _lied_ on an official form for the sake of expediency?”

Julian furrowed his brow. “Next-of-kin _can_ be your closest friend. I didn’t think that- I’m sorry, but I just presumed…”

No, he’d presumed correctly. Garak didn’t have anybody he could rightly call more than an acquaintance, much less a close friend. Just… Julian.

Another wave of weariness fell around him, and he let his shoulders slump. 

“Garak?” Immediately, Julian was kneeling on the floor in front of him, all wide eyes and considerate concern again. He wrapped Garak’s hands in his, then looked down in consternation. “Your hands are _freezing!_ ” Giving the tailor a once-over, he shook his head. “Those pajamas--while fetching--are doing almost nothing to keep you warm. Let’s get you back in bed and under some blankets.”

How and when had Garak lost control of the situation?

Already, the human was helping him rise to his feet and guiding him with a hand to the small of the back, in the direction of his bedroom. Garak squinted, trying to will away the piercing pain behind his eyes and the dizziness that made his brain feel like it was jiggling around in his skull. He sat down when he felt the mattress behind him pushing into his legs, then stared up at his escort.

Julian pottered off to the other room, then returned with a glass of water in one hand and a hypo in other. He pressed the dispenser to Garak’s neck, speaking quietly. “This will take effect a lot faster than a pill. It should help with the pain.” He passed Garak the water and hovered nearby. “Drink as much as you can. Hydration is _always_ important, but especially now.” He paused and waited until the Cardassian obeyed. “I didn’t even add anything to it this time. Just plain old H20.”

Garak managed half of the glass before returning it. Julian set it on a low table. The dizziness returned with a vengeance, and Garak bent forward to brace his hands on his knees. He _hated_ this.

“What’s wrong?” Julian asked gently.

“Nothing, dear Doctor. Just a little light-headed is all.”

Julian lowered to one knee and gazed up at him. “It could be your blood sugar. Since you just ate a little bit ago after _not_ eating for however long it was. This is what I mean, my friend. You need someone here with you. You’re not going to get better like this, on your own.”

Some distant, tucked away and constricted part of his brain pulsed angrily about someone thinking he wasn’t capable of making it through just one more trial in his consistently difficult life. But the rest of him became distracted by the two slender and warm hands that had settled on his knees. He stared down at them, vaguely aware of the hazel eyes staring up at him.

With only the slightest pressure, Julian lifted himself and pushed off of Garak’s legs. He turned around and sat alongside on the bed. After a quiet moment, he spoke up. “What’s this? It looks like a scale on your neck is coming loose?” Wisely, he kept his limbs to himself, although one hand twitched as if he was holding it back from touching.

“Yes, Doctor. I’ve shed quite a few in the past two weeks. This one is just more stubborn than the others.”

Julian made a rude, human sort of noise in his throat. “Sounds like someone I know.” He left the room again, returning with his duffle, which he rifled through and procured a round container. “How do you feel about a shoulder massage? Maybe I could loosen it up.”

Garak stole the item from his hand to read over the label. “This won’t do it. I have some scale balm in the refresher. It’s a brown jar, with a black lid.” When the doctor disappeared, he studied the container closer. It was supposed to warm on contact, and contained oils meant to be rubbed into the skin to soothe tense muscles. He sighed. That probably would have been far more pleasant.

Reluctantly looking forward to the promised massage, he loosened the top of his shirt to expose more of his shoulders.

Julian reappeared with the correct jar and seated himself back on the bed, one knee tucked up and behind Garak. The scent hit him as soon as the lid was unscrewed. An astringent tang of _embova_ weed, softened by powdered _iffit._ He couldn’t see it, but he could picture the thick, grayish-green lotion inside, and Julian scooping out a dollop. To his surprise, he heard a wet squelching sound and vigorous rubbing, then the human breathing heavily. His mind skittered in several obscene directions as his entire body tensed up, until a voice by his ear clarified. “Just warming it up first.”

Garak didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Both emotions evaporated at the sensation of hands on both of his shoulders, at first just feeling around and becoming familiar with the textures and ridges.

“Is- Is this alright?” Julian asked anxiously. “I wasn’t sure about, um, certain zones on Cardassian bodies, and what’s appropriate.”

“A little late to be asking now, isn’t it?” Garak asked snarkily. The hands jerked away, cool air immediately chilling his oiled skin. “No, it’s fine, Doctor. Do you really think, if our necks were vulnerable, we’d have them so openly on display?”

Julian’s hands returned, this time starting to knead and press. “You’re a pest, Garak.”

“Look who’s talking. I’d think a doctor would be better trained at _asking_ before touching.”

The human made a frustrated sound. “I’m not always very good at that.” He worked gently at the ridges and the muscles beneath them, his hands deft and nimble. “I’m better at diagnosing and treating patients, not all of the… social aspects.” His voice had taken on a confessional tone. “My brain focuses so much on facts and problem solving that everything else is just background noise. I didn’t spend a whole lot of time around family or peers growing up, so I guess I just never developed interpersonal skills.”

Indeed. Garak hadn’t even been trying to interrogate the poor man, and here he was already surrendering secrets. But given the opening, it would be a shame not to collect more information. “You didn’t? Why not?”

There was a pause, one that Garak knew must be significant. “When I was young, we left Earth, which was where all my aunts and uncles and cousins lived. And growing up, we moved around a lot because my father was always changing jobs. So I never really had the chance to make many friends, or keep the few I had. They--my parents--didn’t really want me associating with other kids anyway.”

“Whyever not? I was under the impression that humans valued those sorts of relationships.”

“They do. We do! I just… my parents, they… they thought I was better than everyone else. That other kids were inferior. It didn’t really matter to them that I was… _lonely.”_ The last word was spoken softly, and there was a lifetime of hurt behind it. It was the kind of information that Garak automatically filed away, a weak point that could be exploited in the future. Although in this case, he couldn’t imagine needing to do so with this particular confessor. “What about you? What was _your_ childhood like?” The hands had stopped, holding lightly as the human leaned around to look into his face.

Garak glanced at him, then away. He had six basic stories that he used, depending on who was asking and what impression he wanted to leave on them. He stuck to the one that was the closest to the truth. “I was raised by my mother and father, who were the maid and groundskeeper to a wealthy diplomat. We lived in a small shed on his property for my entire childhood, until I went to boarding school.”

The hands resumed their prodding and stroking. “Oh! Did you make friends there?”

Friends? No. Allies, possibly. Rivals, definitely. “A few,” he hedged.

“And are you still in contact now? I mean, I know that you’re in exile, but is that allowed?”

Garak decided it was easiest not to go into details. “I’m afraid we’ve all gone our separate ways. They probably aren’t even aware that I’ve left Cardassia.” Which was a partial truth.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Julian pulled his other leg up and rearranged himself behind Garak. He massaged upward along the ridges, squeezing and compressing towards the ears. One thumb pressed in and rotated a few times, tracing a tight circle in the tissues. He hummed. “Look at that. The scale came off.” He leaned against Garak’s back and wound around him slightly to show the tailor his prize. The gray scute looked almost transparent now, thick but delicate between Julian’s fingers. It glistened with oils. “What do I do with it?”

“Resign it to the replicator, Doctor, to be recycled just as you would with excess hair or nails.”

“Could I… keep it?”

That was an odd request. “Why for?”

“Well, ah, for medical purposes. To get a better understanding of Cardassian anatomy. Tain’s files were very informative, but it’s always nice to have actual samples and cultures to work with.”

Garak didn’t like the idea of having anything with his personal genetic signature in Starfleet’s possession, but that ship had already sailed. They likely had a complete digital representation of his body and DNA by now. “That’s fine,” he allowed. 

The scale disappeared, likely into a pocket. Julian leaned back, allowing cool air to flow between their bodies, and Garak’s torso followed of its own volition. That mammalian warmth was hard to part with. 

His mind wandered back to when the implant was breaking down and he’d sought to ease the pain with Quark’s cheap kanar, and the doctor had come to get him. He’d suggested returning to his quarters, and Julian had agreed to come along. The agreeable “What _ever_ you want,” had sounded like the perfect distraction. Too bad it had only been a ploy to get him to the infirmary.

And now here he was, the two of them not only in Garak’s quarters but on his _bed_ no less, practically wound together. And he wasn’t even in the condition to properly appreciate it.

Just the irony of it.

Julian didn’t pull away, or push him off. Instead he ran his hands roughly up and down Garak’s arms in an effort to warm them up. The tailor grimaced at the thought of what the oils were doing to his sleeves. “It’s a good thing I’m not your doctor anymore, because this isn’t exactly orthodox,” the Human joked, keeping up the movement. The friction over the satin did heat it nicely. “Although it’d be better still if we could get your whole body warm.” Julian bent sideways to push a button over the bed and turn the lamp back on. “How do you feel about a heated blanket?”

“Dreadful. I tried one as soon as I discovered the formula in the replicator. The blanket was stiff and didn’t heat evenly. And it smelled like plastic.”

Julian chuckled. “Yeah, okay. I supposed that rules out heating pads too, then.”

“I do _not_ desire to be covered in lumpy piles.”

“You know, for a tough Cardassian, you’re very picky. Maybe even _sensitive.”_

Garak huffed. Sensitive could have so many meanings, and he wasn’t fond of any of them describing him. “I thought that comfort was a key element to the recovery process.”

“Well. It is. But you’re making things rather difficult. I suppose we could fill your bed with pillows on each side. Make a sort of nest?”

“Despite our appearances, we are not _actually_ lizards, Doctor. We do not _nest.”_

“I beg your pardon. I’m a human, and there are plenty of times when _I’ve_ surrounded myself with a robe and cushions and blankets and pillows and made a delightful nest to cuddle up in. It’s soft and squishy, and the best part is: it holds in the heat on chilly days.” Julian waited for a capitulation, but none was forthcoming. He held his hands up. “Thermal underwear?”

“Too tight.”

“A hot shower.”

“Too temporary.”

Julian shuffled over to sit along Garak’s side. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get _me_ in the bed with you.”

“What makes you think I’m not?” The comeback had escaped Garak’s mouth before he had a moment to think about it. It was just so easy to argue with Julian that he’d automatically felt the need to disagree with what the man said. 

Julian went still, his eyes suddenly serious and guarded. “Is that what you want?”

Oh guls, yes, but not like this. “It was just a joke, Doctor.”

His face softened. “It doesn’t have to be. Touch is an important part of life to many humanoids. It’s perfectly normal to want to be close to someone. There’s such a thing as touch-starvation.”

“What’s that?” Garak had never heard of it before, although he could probably determine the definition easily enough.

“It’s when someone hasn’t spent enough time in contact with others. Close proximity and skin-to-skin connections are an important part of humanoid social and physiological makeup. Touch is proven to reduce stress, lower blood pressure, and stimulate pathways for positive chemicals like serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine. A person who is touch-starved can suffer a whole host of ill effects due to lack of physical stimulation. Even the hand of a stranger or holding an animal can counteract it. In clinical studies, just cradling a doll and _imagining_ that it was alive made a difference.” His eyes turned down in sympathy. “When _was_ the last time you, you know… _touched_ someone? In a way that mattered, not just fingertips when you pass someone a piece of clothing.”

“That’s quite a personal question, Doctor Bashir, so I don’t feel the need to answer it any farther than to say that it’s been a good long while, and leave it at that.”

“Garak, I just want to _help.”_

“Doctor. You’ve fed me. Watered me. Taken up residence in my quarters. Given me medication and massaged my shoulders. You _have_ helped. How much more of your help must I endure?”

Julian looked mildly offended. “ _Endure?_ I’m trying to make things easier, trying to help you _heal_ , and you act like I’m _torturing_ you!” He stalked off the bed and paced away.

Frustration, annoyance, and all of his feelings of helplessness boiled up inside Garak. “Nobody _asked_ you to come here, Doctor. Noone requested that you meddle or pry, or force your Federation ideals on me. Thus far I’ve humored you and allowed you to ease your conscience by ministering to me. But everyone has their limits, and you’ve reached mine.”

Julian rounded about. “Fine. Stew in your self pity and rot in your self indulgence. Choose to be irascible and miserable. Choose to be _alone._ ” His eyes turned hard. “Fuck off, Garak.” And he stormed out of the room.

Garak watched him go, his feelings ambivalent about what had just occurred. He felt smothered by the forced attention, but at the same time, it had been nice to know somebody cared. Why did this have to be so difficult?

He waited for the whoosh of the door opening and closing, but the sound never came. Instead, the deflated form of the doctor rematerialized in his doorway, head drooping. 

“I’m sorry. I thought that you’d appreciate help, and that maybe you were just pushing me away because you didn’t like anyone to see you weak, or dependent. I thought you were lying to me, and possibly even yourself. I thought I knew better, and… and I was wrong. I apologize.” He lifted his eyes mournfully. “I asked for the week off, but if you’d prefer, I can go. If you don’t want me here, then I won’t stay. I can go back to work, and just call you up once a day, or stop by. Unless.” He looked towards the exit. “Unless you just want me to leave you alone.”

Garak wasn’t sure who between them was the more dramatic. Surely they’d both overreacted today. And he really didn’t have the strength to quarrel. “No Doctor, you know I enjoy your company. There’s no reason for us to part completely.” 

He shivered. The bed was growing colder by the minute. “Please come back. Perhaps we can compromise.”

Warily, barely daring to look hopeful, Julian returned. He perched at the very end of the bed, almost teetering off the corner. “What type of compromise were you thinking?”

“You may stay. For a day or two. We can work out the details as we go. You may administer what treatments you deem appropriate, and I will endeavor to accept them more gracefully. But first, _please_ clean up that mess you created on my dining table, before it starts to go bad.”

Julian’s face broke out into a grin. “Yes, sir.”

Under normal circumstances, Garak would have followed him back out to do his own share, and ensure that everything was disposed of or put away properly. But he was going to have to admit that these were _not_ normal circumstances, and that he was temporarily at the mercy of someone else’s version of goodwill. He tucked himself back into bed, pulling the covers tight around himself and tucking them underneath his body. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t fall asleep to the sound of someone bustling about in the other room. He rolled over onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Just what was he going to do with a houseguest for the next two days?

A curious face peeked in and raised its eyebrows, then disappeared. 

Julian returned to the bedroom, a replicated pillow tucked under one arm. Unlike the triangular ones found about the station, this was a large rectangle, thick and fluffy. He set it at the top of the bed, next to Garak’s, then retrieved his duffle bag and took it into the refresher. 

It had been nice of him to leave the pillow as an offering, instead of just forcing it on Garak this time. He leaned up on an elbow and nudged it a few times, intrigued by how soft the filling was. Satisfied, he swapped the two and lay back on the new one. His head sank down until it was cradled on all sides. He moved about until he was further up, and the fluff filled in the space under his neck, providing gentle support. Well. This did feel better than his hard triangle, if somewhat overly indulgent.

Julian emerged from the other room, decked out in loose blue linen that fit him abominably. It was too loose and cut all wrong for his narrow frame. And why was it covered in white pinstripes? Was that really necessary? It was only after Garak had mentally denigrated the ensemble that he realized it was bedclothes. Julian came around to the other side of the bed and dropped his duffle there, then looked at the bed and started laughing. “You stole my pillow.” He held up Garak’s. “I didn’t think you’d want any more coddling, but you look really comfortable there.”

Before Garak could correct him, the human left again. He returned with a second pile of fluff.

“Doctor, are you really planning on getting into the bed with me?”

He clutched the pillow to his chest. “Oh. Um, since you were lying on one side of the bed, I thought you were making room for me.”

The bed was so small that it was hard to say where the middle and edge were, but he supposed he _was_ lying off-center. It hadn’t actually been on purpose; he’d just ended up that way when he rolled over. But the human was already in his pajamas and standing by the blankets, eyes wide and mouth in a small pout.

 _This boy is twenty years your junior, Elim. This is not wise. Do you remember the danger you posed when YOU were in his position?_ The voice in his head sounded unnervingly like Enabran Tain. _Do not let him into your bed._

 _You cut me off from my own kind, Father,_ he thought back angrily. _Where else did you expect me to find comfort?_ But he knew exactly where. Tain had expected him to turn to the Bajorans. Desperate for conversation and a bit of enjoyable company, he would be forced to become intimate with the people who his own race had oppressed. He’d have to lower his standards, only to face rejection after rejection for years on end. 

The ex-head of the Obsidian Order, in all his experience and wisdom, hadn’t accounted for the withdrawal of the Occupation and the replacement with youthful, optimistic, starry-eyed Federation officers. _Suck it, you malicious old man._

Although even as he thought it, another younger, sadder voice almost immediately apologized. _I’m sorry Father, I didn’t mean it. Please don’t give up on me._

“It’s alright Garak. I can stay on the couch while I’m here. I just don’t know what other options to offer to keep you warm right now. Other than some tea. Should I make some redleaf? I know that’s your favorite. Or I could heat up some rokassa juice.” His face scrunched up in distaste. Garak knew how much he hated the odor. “Maybe we can warm you from the inside out. What about hot cocoa?”

Tain was relegated back into the shadows the moment Garak heard “warm you from the inside out.”

“Yes, hot cocoa sounds delightful, Doctor. Make two, one for yourself as well.”

He watched Julian retreat for what felt like the dozenth time that day. He was starting to feel bad about how much work the gentleman was putting in. But he’d also felt it necessary to remove him from the room until he could tamp down the desire to drag that ill-clad body against his and discuss alternative methods of internal heating. Very persuasively. Had he still been under the influence of the wire, there would have been no qualms whatsoever about taking action, and he simultaneously bemoaned the fact that he had never been so bold and praised himself for being able to control his urges even when severely compromised by addiction.

Not that he concealed them in the privacy of his own quarters. There had been countless sessions of self-gratification featuring fantasies of the newly-arrived CMO, especially after their lunch meetings. It was a good thing Julian never noticed that he didn’t immediately return to his shop on those days. 

Pleasant tingles awoke deep and low at the memories. Pictures of bending that lithe body over the replimat table, or laying him out on an unrolled bolt of fabric in his back room, of the young officer on his knees in a dressing booth… 

And after seeing Julian take down Dukat during that orphan affair, watching him grow in confidence and conviction, a whole new slew of reveries had plagued Garak. The young man forcefully pushing him down in a chair and straddling his lap, or taking him against the bulkhead in a dark corridor, maybe abusing his status as physician in the infirmary and wielding implements in ways other than their intended medical uses…

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to allow Julian to stay with him after all. This could be a long couple days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having been through numerous depressive episodes, I wish someone would treat me the way Julian does to Garak.  
> 1) Caring enough to notice that you’re missing and/or not functioning. Checking up on you without being TOLD to do so.  
> 2) Making sure you’re getting the essentials, like food and water.  
> 3) Not leaving you alone even if you’re peevish, b/c they know it's your helplessness and not them.  
> 4) Not getting frightened off or giving up on you.


	3. Sharing a Bed

They each rested on their side, back to back and less than thirty centimeters apart. The drinks sat on the nightstand, untouched.

No heat was being shared.

In fact, a chilly draft was seeping in between them where the blanket stretched from shoulder to shoulder.

Garak closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on falling asleep. Tune out the smell of human doctor that was rapidly permeating his bedsheets, the infrared radiation vaguely sensed by his back ridges, the twitches and wriggles of a companion who was resting every bit as peacefully as he was. Which was to say, not at all.

The mattress dipped as Julian flopped from his side to his back. “Garak?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“You’re going to have to start calling me Julian, seeing as we’re in bed together. That at least makes us friends, doesn’t it?”

At least?

“Yes, of course it does. I wouldn’t let just anyone so close.” Which was an outright lie, because he had, numerous times. When he was an operative, it was just one more method of getting to know his enemies. And his allies. 

After his exile, he’d remained solitary chaste for some time. Terok Nor hadn’t been a friendly or clean place, and the Cardassian soldiers stationed there had no interest in being associated with someone disgraced as he. And taking a Bajoran lover held no appeal at all. He didn’t want someone to sleep with him out of _fear_. Or worse, pity. 

It wasn’t until the Federation showed up that he’d occasionally indulged his appetite. His income had been limited, but the implant--when activated--sent him into minor manic episodes that encouraged not only carnal impulses but an unfortunate loose hand on his latinum. He never stooped so low as to purchase company from one of Quark’s side ventures (of which Odo was somehow unaware), but he had lured a dabo girl or two into a dalliance, as well as a few visiting traders. Once there was even a pirate.

Of course, none of them were even close to intellectually stimulating, good for only a night of physical release and no more. He’d sought out the good doctor almost immediately after several of those encounters, desperate for intelligent conversation and rousing debate.

Garak paused his musing at the prickling of his arm going numb. He lowered himself onto his back, inadvertently landing with his bicep and hip against the doctor’s. That had not been intentional, but he had to stay there now, to make it seem deliberate. Agents of the Obsidian Order did not make miscalculations. He was forced to rest his hands on his belly, feeling for all the world like a teenager again, awkward and horny and damn uncomfortable.

It was mildly consoling that Julian was lying in exactly the same position.

Two grown men, sharing a bed and behaving like children. He was not going to get _any_ sleep at this rate.

“Um, Garak?”

The Cardassian stifled a deep sigh. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Is this helping? I don’t think I’m really close enough to actually be keeping you warm.” He brushed his near hand over Garak’s leg. “You still feel pretty cool.” He flipped onto his other side to face the tailor, and propped his head up with an elbow between them. “This is ridiculous, isn’t it? I don’t know why I suggested it. In order for it to make any difference, I’d have to… I don’t know. Lie on _top_ of you. Or wrap myself around you. And even if we’re friends, we’ve never exactly been _that_ close before. Garak.” He sounded frustrated. “I want to help you, but I honestly don’t _know how.”_

If he did either of the things he’d mentioned, Garak feared he would be lost. He was caught between excusing himself from the situation altogether and throwing all caution to the wind. So he compromised with his own psyche, and the doctor’s. “You can move a _little_ closer, then. Your body temperature is a few degrees above my own, and the proximity will make a difference.”

Julian shifted closer, his whole front now pressed to Garak’s side. He bent his arm over his own stomach nervously, tried resting his hand on his hip, then gave up and gingerly lay it over Garak’s chest. “Is this better?” he asked quietly. His tone sounded huskier than normal, but that had to be just the angle. Surely he wasn’t as affected by their placement as Garak was. He was just a sweet, gentle human who wanted to be there for a friend. There could be no way he actually held any attraction to an older, exiled tailor.

“Marginally. Thank you, Doctor.”

Julian huddled down, tucking his chin over Garak’s shoulder. “Why won’t you call me Julian?” 

The hot breath against his skin was as welcome as it was distracting. “I suppose I’ve grown used to referring to you in that manner.”

“Mm. Kind of like a pet name.”

“A pet name?” He most certainly did not think of the human as a _pet._

“A, uh, nickname of sorts. A term of endearment. Something you call a person you’re fond of.”

A term of endearment. Yes, that fit.

And yet it didn’t.

“Would you prefer Zulian?” Garak hated that his Cardassian tongue struggled with the hard ‘J,’ and hoped that it wasn’t offensive that he couldn’t pronounce the name correctly.

The hand on his chest fluttered. “Zulian sounds lovely.” Julian drew a leg up, tucking it over Garak’s. The heat was radiant on his thigh, like a beam directly from the Cardassian sun. He stiffened as the human wiggled closer, his crotch to Garak’s hip and face in the crook of his neck. “I wish that there was something I could call you other than Garak,” he murmured. “Something just for you and me.” 

Oh dear. It almost felt and sounded as if Julian might actually be making an advance. No, surely not. But he ought to make sure.

“What would you suggest, Zulian?”

A breath puffed out over his skin. “Since you don’t like Elim, I don’t rightly know. Do you have a middle name?”

Yes, but no one was privy to it other than Mila and Tain, and he wasn’t about to let that change. “I do not.”

“Yes you do. Dukat has one. It starts with a G. I saw it in his personnel file.”

That was easy enough to work around. “Skrain is from a more prominent family than I. Members of the service class are not afforded the privilege of middle names.”

Julian propped back up on his elbow to look down, momentarily drawn off topic. “Do _you_ know his middle name? Don’t tell me it’s Garak.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s a surname. And that information is confidential.”

“How do _you_ know it, then? If you’re just a tailor?”

“I didn’t say I know it, just that I know it’s private.”

“Hmph.” Julian continued to study him, his eyes skating over ridged brows, cheeks, nose. He slid his hand up to Garak’s far shoulder. “I bet you _do_ know it. I hope it’s something terribly embarrassing. He’s such a wanker.”

A small chuckle bubbled up in Garak’s chest. “I couldn’t agree more.” Their faces were so close now, it really wouldn’t take much to simply raise his head and claim those expressive lips. But he was still reluctant, still afraid that all of this was just over-familiarity, a human who didn’t understand his own species’ boundaries and social cues, much less those of other peoples. “What would you do with that information, if you knew? If Dukat’s middle name meant something mortifying, like ‘precious egg?’” Which it did.

“I suppose I’d sit on it, until a good situation presented itself. I don’t know, honestly.” He brightened. “I know! I’d use it in front of Major Kira.”

Oh, now that really _would_ be a delight. “I like the way you think, my Zulian.”

Now, that had not been intentional. It was a mixture of ‘my dear doctor’ and ‘Julian,’ and the two terms sort of jumbled together. But it produced an interesting effect.

Julian blinked a couple times, and ran his tongue over his lips. “I- I like the way you think, too,” he stammered, his eyes flitting down to Garak’s mouth and back up. He sucked in a breath, and his arm trembled. The skin on his cheeks flushed a deep pink, and suddenly the air was filled with an alien yet curiously familiar scent. It had to be human pheromones.

Experimentally, Garak slid a hand over until it rested on Julian’s thigh. The leg jumped but remained firmly in place, and the foot moved up and down just once, a brush over his calf that implied interest. The human ducked his head demurely, but he looked back up with hooded eyes, his pupils blown.

Garak’s common sense said that there was no way this dazzling young gentleman could find him worthy of attraction and affection, but his training said that all of the signals indicated exactly that conclusion. The only question that remained was what he intended to do about it.

This was madness.

The vulnerable set to Julian’s face shifted as he seemed to pick up on Garak’s reaction, and the light in his eyes took on a different glint. A look of resolve settled over his features, and the tailor’s stomach began to tie itself into knots. It was _exactly_ like being a teenager again. He felt his eyelids flutter shut and his lips part as the face descended, and his hand clenched reflexively on the leg covering his.

When the soft, hot, smooth lips finally brushed over his, he nearly leapt out of his skin. It was tender and chaste and yet absolutely electric. Another whisper of flesh to flesh, and the skin where they touched burned and pulsed. It was the sweetest type of torture, worse than any cutting or whipping or stun he’d ever received. He was amazed at the flood of endorphins, the same effect as if someone had done him harm and the implant was functioning again. He chased the high, pushing back, forcing their mouths together until Julian allowed his tongue entry, and he dipped into the silky, wet, molten entrance that caressed and tasted back. 

The body over his quivered and shuddered, rocking gently into him. As they opened to one another, he ran his hand up Julian’s thigh to the hip and pulled it tighter to himself. The younger man moaned into his mouth, a breathless, helpless sound that he would have expected in the throes of passion, not just here at the beginning, clothed and learning the shape of each other. Just what sorts of sounds could be elicited were he to strip off those clothes, to cover that skin in biting kisses, to work himself inside _other_ entrances?

But he was stuck here on his back, submitting all too easily, having allowed Julian the first advance. And due to the small size of the bed, if he pushed the human over to take the dominant position, they’d fall right off.

Lost in deliberation, it took him a moment to realize Julian was drawing back. “Garak… Garak, we shouldn’t… really…”

“We shouldn’t _what_ , Zulian?”

His eyes darted frantically back and forth. “We shouldn’t-- It isn’t the right time-- you’re not…” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you like this.”

Garak almost laughed out loud. _Him_ , the naive Starfleet doctor, taking advantage of a hardened intelligence agent? But that he _thought_ he was, oh, that was absolutely priceless. As if he thought he had some sort of _power_ over Garak. Really! “My dear Zulian,” and this time, the phrase _was_ deliberate, “you aren’t taking anything if it’s freely given.” He lifted his shoulders to pick up where they left off, but was once again denied.

Julian angled back further. “Garak, you’re still recovering from the implant malfunction. You’re-- you’re not in your right mind. Your thoughts and feelings, and all those chemicals running through your body… they’re not in balance. I-- I can’t, in good conscience…” He trailed off, and started to back away.

Garak tightened his grip on the fabric under his hand, tethering Julian’s body in place. “Doctor. _Zulian_ . Just because I was impaired in the past, it doesn’t mean I am _now_. I assure you, my mind is quite clear on this matter.”

“My mind isn’t.”

He almost let go. “You aren’t sure you want this?”

“No, I do. I do want this. But I…” He searched for the words. “Garak, I don’t want you to get better, and then look back on this and regret it. I don’t want to be a mistake.”

A mistake? Yes, he very well could be. Getting too close to _anyone_ would be. The infuriating young man had a valid point. But for all the wrong reasons. “Zulian, are you saying that you don’t think I’m capable of rational _consent?”_

Julian loosened up fractionally. “Well, no. I think you are. You do seem, ah, rational.” He looked confused, like when Garak turned the tables on an argument over literature. “But from a doctor’s point of view--”

“You’re no longer my doctor.”

“But I still _am_ a doctor. Damn it, Garak. How do I know _for sure_ if you’re thinking straight or not?”

One second, Julian was half-lying on top of the tailor, looking down on him, the next he was flat on his back, one arm twisted roughly behind him and a forearm across his throat. Not restricting his breathing, but tight enough for the threat to exist. Straddling his waist, Julian’s arousal was impossible to deny. Garak was momentarily thrown off stride at the raw audacity of him to have his erection so brazenly displayed before he remembered that human procreative anatomy was strictly external.

He fought back the urge to grind against the prominent bulge, and instead glared down at the alarmed face pressed into the pillow. “Do you call this compromised, my dear doctor? Tell me now that I’m not thinking clearly, that I’m not in full possession of all my faculties.”

Once again, Julian managed to surprise him. “It seems to me that you’re having trouble maintaining proper control,” he commented dryly. 

“You’ve yet to see me _actually_ lose control,” Garak retorted.

But the doctor just raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Oh really. Then what do you call smashing a vase on the floor and throwing me across the room last week? A mild display of displeasure?”

Garak had conveniently forgotten about that episode, but flashes of it played back. He’d been in pain, and lashed out, desperate to inflict pain back, on anyone, anything. 

He’d... told Julian that he hated him. 

He released both holds and straightened out. 

Julian worked his arm out from under himself and rose up onto his elbows. His eyes slowly raked down Garak’s torso, still pinning his own, and back up. “ _Now_ I’m more convinced that you’re in control.”

“What would it take to prove to you that I’m completely capable of sound judgement?” _And back to moaning in my arms?_

The hazel eyes slipped out of his hold to dart away. “Wait a solid week or two before pursuing this any further.”

That.

Was not.

Fair.

Julian returned his gaze, even more serious. “Garak. It wasn’t that long ago you were dying. Your body is still physically recuperating. That’s going to take a while. And emotionally, you’re probably still pretty shaken up. It’s perfectly natural to want to celebrate your life. And sex is one hell of an affirmation. You’ve already made a tremendous recovery, much faster and stronger than I would have expected. But let’s not rush it, okay?” Perturbed, Garak slung his leg over, and Julian slid out from under him. “It’s good to see your reflexes are still intact.”

Garak didn’t bother responding, just turned around to drop his legs over the side of the bed. The sting of rejection was nearly as painful as the dull throb in his muscles, which had kicked back into overdrive. Were the painkillers wearing off already? Maybe the doctor hadn’t given him something very strong to begin with.

Or was it all in his head, which had done nothing but betray him for the past two years?

“I- I’m sorry, Garak. I shouldn’t have led you on. It’s my fault. I take total responsibility. Be mad at me if you like. Just… don’t beat yourself up over it. You need some rest. Go ahead and lie back down, and I’ll send myself to the sofa.” The mattress shifted as he moved. “We’ll find some other way to keep your body temperature managed.”

Garak cursed at himself. The moment Julian had suggested relocating, his pulse had leapt. Because he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to sense the presence of another living being there with him, wanted to feel someone else’s skin, wanted to hear a voice that wasn’t his own.

He wanted to be comforted.

How the mighty had fallen.

He reached for the cooling hot cocoa next to his bed and tasted it. Sweet and rich, with hints of spice. Deceptively simple, with hidden complexity. And a product of the Federation, no less. A perfect metaphor for Julian. 

Garak cradled the mug in both hands, grateful for what little heat emanated through the ceramic. It wasn’t enough. He swallowed some more, briefly warming his mouth, his throat, his stomach. In contrast, it made his arms, legs, and back feel even colder.

He felt as if his skin was trying to crawl off and cross the bed to the man on the other side.

“I’m tired, Doctor.”

The sheets shifted.

“I would be a horrible host if I consigned you to that dreadfully replicated furniture in the main room, but I’m selfish enough to not want to sleep there myself, either. Share the bed with me.”

“Okay. But only if you promise to behave.”

Garak spun around. “ _You_ kissed _me!”_

An impish smile bloomed. “I was teasing.”

“So you would prefer for me to misbehave?” he volleyed back. 

Julian scowled sternly, but his cheeks still colored with a faint blush. “Don’t push it.”

They both took up their halves of the bed and tugged the blanket back and forth until it was arranged evenly over them, then turned on their sides so that they were face to face. It felt different this time, more intimate than before but not _intimate_. They studied each other’s features, their hands resting on the surface between them but not touching, until Julian slid his up and over Garak’s.

“The Betazoids have a form of therapy, a facial massage, that’s meant to calm the mind.” His voice took on a quiet but professorial tone. “Being empathic, sometimes they experience a mental sensory overload. The massage moves their focus from the core to the surface.” He gazed over the lines on Garak’s brow, surrounding his eyes, his cheeks. “Facial skin is incredibly sensitive, so there’s probably some truth to it. If you like, we can give it a try.”

The thought of being held by those warm, tender hands was too tempting to pass up. “Be my guest, Doctor.”

Julian frowned. “Are we back to _that_ again?” But he shimmied on his side until both arms were free, and reached up to cradle Garak’s face. The heat against his skin was an instant relief. “I was rather fond of Zulian.” His thumbs moved slightly back and forth. “The ridges on your face: are they something that can take pressure, or should I rub next to them?”

Both prospects sounded compelling. “I’ve never had my face massaged before. What is your expert medical opinion?”

“Well, I would assume that the thicker tissue might be less sensitive, but that isn’t always the case, like ears on Ferengi. And also, I don’t want to, um, inadvertently touch anywhere that’s taboo.”

“No, nothing on our faces is taboo.”

“Not even the, ah…” 

“The _chufa_?”

“Is that the name for your cranial crest?”

“You make it sound like we’re Vulcan bola lizards. Yes. But just be careful there. No nails.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Julian’s hands slid upward, and his fingers began to trace the ridges that looped around Garak’s eyes. When no complaints were issued, he kneaded more firmly, starting at the nose and moving outwards and down. The gesture repeated over and over, and Garak let his eyelids droop at the calming sensation. “This is kind of relaxing for me too,” the human murmured.

He tried the forehead next. The vertical ridges didn’t seem particularly receptive, so he rubbed his index fingers and thumbs on each side of them, from the scalp down. When his curiosity got the best of him, he ran a finger around the crest of the chufa, then rested his thumb in the center.

The sensitive organ flared under his touch, and a wave of heat washed down Garak’s body from head to toe. If he could just lie there like this for the next five hours, he might just be able to rest.

“It’s a perfect fit,” Julian noted.

Garak’s people had a saying about that, but he thought it might be best not to share that bit of information at the moment.

“Lie on your back,” his companion whispered, and his thumb followed Garak down, remaining firmly in place. “Lizard or not, you look like you’re basking.”

The tailor just hummed back. 

He felt his side warm up as Julian arranged himself in a similar position to the one he’d held earlier. Cuddled over his chest, one leg riding up, head tucked into his neck. It did feel so very nice.

“I think another one of your neck scales is shedding. It looks loose.”

“There may be some on my back, chest, and hips as well. Feel free to check.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t suggest that.”

“Suit yourself.”

What felt suspiciously like lips grazed his jaw. “Go to sleep, Garak.”

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to "Madness" by Muse on a nonstop loop while writing this chapter.


	4. Mixed Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a mood swing, which was reflected in the second half of this chapter. I feel like it kind of turned into a sitcom, and I can’t decide if I should apologize for that or not.

He dreamed about being back at Bamarren, standing at attention under the Cardassian sun for hours on end. But instead of miserably sweltering away, he raised his arms to welcome the rays and let them course through his frozen body. The teacher and other students faded out as he shut his eyes, much as he had in his youth, so that it was just him and the sand beneath his feet, the currents in the air, the radiant star filling the sky. When he looked again, Palandine walked by, crossing the pit and flashing him her secret smile. 

His bare feet sank into the sand, and a regnar skittered past his leg. He reached down to grab it, and came up with a green stem instead. He was in Tolan’s garden, ankle-deep in mud. “You stand there all day, and you’ll start growing roots,” the older man said fondly. “Always so lost inside your head. What goes on in there, Elim?”

“I was just wondering how the plants know to turn their leaves at the sun, even when there’s clouds.” His voice was higher, thinner, the sound of youth.

“You had your eyes closed a moment ago. But you still knew where it was, didn’t you?”

“I could feel it.”

The man was standing right in front of him now, the father who wasn’t his father. “Whenever there’s clouds, Elim, close your eyes and feel for the sun.” He bent in anshwar, touching their foreheads together, and it felt like all of the light in the universe had come to rest in his chufa. Sometimes, at moments like this, he thought he could almost understand the man’s spirituality, his forbidden belief in the Oralian Way, derided by Uncle Enabran. “May you live in the mystery of morning, always seeking the light of love.” It was a benediction he used infrequently, one that Elim still wasn’t sure he understood. But he appreciated the sentiment behind it.

Tolan walked away, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Up in the sky, instead of a reddish haze, the stars wheeled about as if it were night time, and Terok Nor rose in the west. A chill seeped into his bones, and he knew, he _knew_ that he’d end up there some day. The wormhole bloomed behind it, bathing the station in pink and purple before the entire structure disappeared into the gate, which swirled shut.

Something tickled his cheek, and he turned to see what it was, expecting an insect, or a leaf. Instead, he found a tangle of dark brown hair, with red glints from the heating lamp overhead. He was in bed. On Terok Nor. Or rather, Deep Space Nine. The man still resting next to him moved again, tresses once more sweeping over his maxillary ridge, and he turned his face away from the wispy strands.

What time was it? It felt late. They’d lain down some time after mid day, so it could be anywhere from 1400 hours to the next morning. His internal clock was sorely scrambled.

Garak eased himself out from under Julian, who made a few sleepy sounds and then wrapped himself around a pillow. 

His first order of business was a quick trip to the refresher, which reminded him that he was long overdue for a sonic shower. Maybe even a hydraulic one, if he was willing to use a solid chunk of his water ration.

But first, he wanted to get something out of the way before his companion woke up. He stealthily moved into the main room and settled down at the console. 1800 hours. He’d had a solid _six_ hours sleep in the doctor’s company? 

A glance back at the bed confirmed that Julian was still there, and still down. Perhaps the often-overworked doctor had needed a break as well.

Garak sent a quick coded message off to Quark, aware that the bartender would likely be in the middle of his dinner rush. He _had_ to have access to something stronger than whatever had been brought over. And if he didn’t, then he’d probably know someone who did. Garak contemplated hacking into Odo’s security logs to see if any visitors to the station had been caught with medicinal contraband, but decided that might be pushing his luck for now. He’d have to bide his time until he was truly alone.

He crossed back through the bedroom to the refresher, noting that Julian was still fast asleep. After his shower, he might wake him up for a small meal.

The sonic shower was cleansing, but Garak still felt like there was gunk under his scales, so he switched over to hydraulic and pulled out some soap and a scrubbing brush. He made quick work of it, wanting to save some water for another day, when he’d have time to really pay attention to his hair. Cardassian locks required focused maintenance once every week or two to strip out the oils and dust accumulation, then be re-smoothed and straightened, and he was overdue. 

He exited the shower, vaguely dismayed that Julian hadn’t tried joining him. Whether to make sure he was taking proper care of himself or for other reasons didn’t really matter. But he’d gladly use up the remainder of his water for _that_.

Not used to having guests, Garak realized that the only clothing available to him in the room was his robe. He’d have preferred a tunic and matching slacks, but this would have to do. Not that the covering wasn’t nice. It was thick and soft, a navy chenille brocade, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. The textile had cost several strips of latinum, and the design took more than a month to assemble. Even so, he was seriously considering making one for the doctor. Maybe in white, to complement his tawny skin, or olive to match his eyes. That Starfleet teal was flattering on him as well.

Stepping out of the refresher, he discovered the bedroom to be vacated, the covers strewn haphazardly about. 

Of course he’d end up with a messy roommate.

The smell of fresh food drew him into the dining area, where he found Julian putting some finishing touches on a small dinner. 

Except he was clad in only half as much attire as before.

His long-sleeved shirt and full-length trousers had been swapped out for a Starfleet Academy t-shirt and jogging shorts. The vast lengths of flesh being exposed were highly distracting, and were going to make Garak “behaving himself” that much more difficult. He suddenly wished he had made that second robe already.

Julian noticed his entrance and subsequent scrutiny, and shrugged. “I was feeling a little overheated under the blankets and your lamp in there. Your quarters are a good four degrees warmer than mine. Come on in, sit down.”

It still rankled when his guest presumed to give him orders around his own residence, but he obeyed. His stomach was feeling slightly more settled, and he thought he might actually have a small appetite.

They seated themselves and tucked into their light fare: some sort of lightly seasoned and oiled bread, accompanied by another stew. Or soup? It was salty and savory, and settled pleasantly into his stomach. 

“Chicken and potato,” Julian clarified. “Since we already had grains, I wanted to add a starch.” He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you eat greens. Do you like salad?”

“Leafy vegetables of any type are difficult to come by on Cardassia, so we’ve become accustomed to going without. There are some stems and reeds that we’ll grill.”

“Hm. I wonder what you’d think of asparagus.” He snorted softly.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Cardassians have superior olfactory senses, right? It’s a stem vegetable that makes your pee smell funny.”

Garak set down his fork to stare incredulously at his dinner companion. “What in the great guls makes you think that is appropriate meal conversation? This is not the time nor place to discuss…” he lowered his voice, “ _bodily functions.”_

But Julian only appeared mildly contrite. “Garak, I had no idea you were such a prude.”

That was the first time in his life he’d been referred to as such, and his jaw dropped.

The human shrugged for a second time. “As a doctor, all _bodily functions_ are perfectly normal to experience, much less discuss. But I’m sorry if I offended your sense of propriety. Let’s change the subject.” He glanced across the room. “I called the O’Briens while you were cleaning up. Miles wasn’t home, so I told Keiko that I’d be here a few days.” He looked back at his plate. “Jadzia says hi.” The bread became very interesting, and he started tearing little chunks off.

“Doctor, is something else on your mind?”

Julian kept his eyes averted. “I saw your sent messages. There was an encrypted one from thirty minutes ago.”

There was no denying it, but there was also no way Julian could have deciphered it, so Garak just nodded agreeably. “I sent a thank-you to Enabran Tain, for his contribution to the medical archives that saved my life. An ordinary message would never make it through his security measures, so I had to make a few modifications.”

The human stared at the bread in his hands. “Is Tain on the station?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Because your message didn’t leave Deep Space Nine. It’s still in the server, floating around the network until the right recipient notices it.”

How could he have known that?

“Doctor, have you been spying on me?”

He lifted his head, expression guarded. “Haven’t you done that to me?”

Well, yes, but that was besides the point. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Julian rose from the table, taking his half-eaten food with him to the replicator. He vanished it, but kept his back to Garak. “I won’t stop you from trying to self-medicate, but I would appreciate it if you at least inform me of what you’re taking, so I can be ready. In case of side effects, allergic reactions. Accidental overdoses.”

Had he actually gotten into Garak’s message, or was he just speculating as to the nature of the secrecy? It _had_ to be the latter; it was practically impossible that he could have broken through the encryption.

“Tarkalean tea, hot, extra sweet.” Julian took out the mug and turned around, blowing at the drink, eyes still downcast. He leaned against the wall. “Garak, if you don’t trust me to give you the proper medication, dosages, and treatment, then maybe I shouldn’t be here. Whatever you choose to do, or take, could completely nullify anything I provide. And I really don’t want to watch you go through all of… _that_ all over again.” He took a sip of the tea but didn’t lower it, just stared off into space.

Garak bit back a retort, or an admonishment. The man _was_ a doctor after all, and a damned good one. One who took his work seriously. He’d shared dozens of stories with Garak about his frustrations over difficult patients, and now here he was temporarily living with one.

“Zulian.” The hard set of Julian’s face instantly softened. “Anything that I… happen to come across, I will… show you. And you can make sure it won’t have any unpleasant effects on my physiology before I try it. Is this acceptable?”

Julian took a couple sips of tea, still keeping his eyes turned away, and let the silence draw out. It wasn’t like him, someone who was normally so vital and _vocal_ , and Garak found it slightly unnerving. Their time together seemed to be rapidly maturing the young man. Or jading him. His respect for the human increased.

When Julian did speak, it wasn’t in response to Garak’s question. “What would you like to do after dinner?” He gazed around the room. “Read? Watch a movie? Kotra?” He set his tea on the counter, walked over to the window, and studied the stars. “Maybe tomorrow, we can take a walk through the arboretum. Get some fresh air, artificial sunlight. Keiko says you have a few plants in there that you normally take care of. She’s been watering them while you were… indisposed.”

How incredibly nice of her. He’d have to come up with a suitable gift in return. “That sounds manageable.”

Julian traced the curved frame with his hand, then turned around. “Have you thought about trying the holosuites? There’s spa and sauna programs, masseuses, every type of temple, historical landmark, biome, or ecosystem you can think of. I’m willing to bet Quark still has some Cardassian ones left over from the Occupation. There’s got to be _something_ you wouldn’t find distasteful.”

Garak took a final bite of soup and turned around fully in his seat. “It’s not the _material_ I have an issue with, Doctor. It’s the fact that no matter how friendly the characters or stunning the sunset, you’re actually standing alone in nothing more than a small suite covered in speakers and projectors. If I were to take off my shoe and throw it, it’d hit a wall just two meters away.” 

The human leaned back, perching his rear on the ledge, and crossed his arms. “ _Actually,_ that’s not precisely how it works. It would probably just--”

“It doesn’t matter, Doctor. The answer is no.”

“You’re probably the most difficult patient I’ve ever had to work with, Garak.”

He sounded more fondly exasperated than angry, so the tailor responded lightly. “I’m proud to serve with distinction.”

Tain had once said something similar to Mila when she was upset with him, and Garak realized he’d sounded almost the same. He remembered the two of them sniping comfortably with one another throughout his childhood, and marveled for the hundredth time how he’d never put two and two together. 

It was Tolan who’d been the outsider, both literally and figuratively, working on the gardens and hardly ever setting foot in the house. And it was Tolan, not Mila and Enabran, that Garak had chosen to spend a majority of his time with, before his formal training (reprogramming) at Bamarren.

Of the two fathers, Garak had followed in Tain’s footsteps, had admired and feared, but it had been Tolan that he loved. He had no doubt which of the two Julian would approve of.

 _Zulian,_ who was trying to free him from the chains of the Obsidian Order and take him for a walk in the garden.

An unfamiliar lump lodged itself in his throat.

 _“Whenever there’s clouds, Elim, close your eyes and feel for the sun_ . _May you live in the mystery of morning, always seeking the light of love.”_

Garak closed his eyes.

He took a slow, steady breath in, out.

He tried to relax his shoulders, unclench the hands in his lap.

In, out.

He could feel the sun. It was getting closer. A distant warmth, growing stronger.

It stopped in front of him, lowered down to his level.

He opened his eyes.

Julian was kneeling in front of him.

He burned as if a fire had lit in his very center, flared to life from a spark to an inferno, and for the first time in decades, Garak wondered if this was what it felt like to have a soul.

In a daze, he reached out to pet his hand over the soft brown mane, then ran his palm down to cup Julian’s chin. “Let’s go to the arboretum tomorrow, my dear. In the morning, when the lights are first brightening. It’s usually empty then, and I can show you my orchids.”

The golden-brown eyes widened. “You grow orchids?”

“Cardassian ones, yes.” Edosian orchids.

Julian sat back on his feet, and Garak let him go. “Are they dangerous?”

The tailor couldn’t help a small smile. “What a question! Why would they be dangerous? They’re only flowers.”

“There’s about a million toxins in this quadrant alone that can be derived from plants. Even innocuous ones,” the human stated matter-of-factly.

How pleasurable it was to have someone _intelligent_ to converse with. “Then would it matter whether or not I planted something dangerous?”

The human thought about it. “They _must_ be dangerous, or else you’d give me a straight answer.”

“Doctor, when have I ever given you a straight answer?”

Julian huffed. “Fair point. They must be harmless then.”

“Quite.” _Unless they’re cross-pollinated with another species to produce a deadly hybrid._ However, Garak only possessed the replicator pattern for the seeds of the other species, not any live specimens. He didn’t want to risk any _accidental_ pairings between the two plants.

“So it’s settled then. We’ll have an early breakfast, and then go to the arboretum. That sounds like a lovely start to the day. So we should probably retire early. But that still leaves us…” Julian checked the chrono on the wall, “ _three_ hours, give or take? What should we do with that time? What do you _normally_ do in the evenings?”

Those questions had two very different answers. _Normally_ , Garak would be monitoring subspace transmissions, or sending a few of his own. There were also the passenger lists and cargo manifests of visiting ships to peruse, news outlets to skim, and various Starfleet files to work through, especially unlocked personal log entries. Lastly, he had a few video feeds that he liked to routinely monitor, just like Odo. But none of those would do for his response.

“I’m afraid my evenings are terribly boring, my dear. I might bring home a commission to finish, or go through the inventory for my shop. If inspiration has struck me, I may work on a new design. And of course, there’s always Shoggoth or Preloc to keep me company.”

Julian crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands. “I suppose we could sit on the couch and read.” But his knees jounced up and down, and he peered about the room restlessly. Young as he was, he had probably worked up a sizable charge after the lengthy late-afternoon nap.

“What do _you_ normally do in the evenings, Doctor?” Garak asked, even though he already knew.

“Ah. Well, um. Depends on the day. I usually spend an hour or so exercising, either in my room or the racquetball court. I might have a drink with the Chief or Jadzia. Sometimes I bring my work home and go through patient histories or the latest medical breakthroughs. Watch an old movie. Or you know, go out on a date. And there’s reading, of course. Especially if you’ve given me a new novel to _broaden my horizons_ in terms of literature.”

“Well, there we go. Why don’t you make a visit to the courts to work on your serves and swings, and I’ll stay here to rest.” If left alone in his quarters for long enough, Garak might have the chance to catch up on a few of the activities that he’d fallen behind on. And improve his computer security measures, in case his bright visitor really _had_ been able to hack his messages. He really was feeling improved after two meals, some medicine, and a shower. What was something convincingly innocuous and tranquil? “I could crochet.” 

Julian popped off the floor to balance in a squat. “What if I just exercised here? I’m not particularly in the mood for racquetball tonight.” He plucked at his t-shirt. “I’m already dressed for it. And private showers are nicer than the public ones. Do you mind?” 

Garak was rendered temporarily speechless. He’d daydreamed about what the fit young doctor did to maintain his grace, limberness, and physique, but never actually thought he’d be accorded the privilege of _watching._ But given the opportunity… he supposed his clandestine nocturnal activities could be postponed for one more night. Pulling his robe closed tighter, he cleared his throat. “If you prefer. Just be careful about how you use the space. I have several fragile objects on display, if you know what I mean.”

Julian leapt up. “Don’t crash into any tables, shelves, or statues. Got it. Can I move some things?” 

“If you’re referring to relocating my coffee table to make room, then by all means.”

They both dragged it away to the bulkhead, leaving a large open square in the middle of the floor. 

Garak seated himself comfortably on the chair and sat back to observe while Julian started off with a couple lunges. The figure rotated nimbly, and raised his eyebrows at the Cardassian. “Are you just going to watch me? I thought you were going to crochet or something.”

“Oh! Right.” Garak hurried off to gather up some materials and brought them back to the couch. “I think I’ll just go through some of my samples this evening, instead. No need to put a strain on my eyes.” 

The human raised his hands up over his head to stretch and smirked. “Wouldn’t want _that_ , now would we?” And with that, he bent in half to touch his toes, pert rear pointed upward.

Oh, _yes._ Very nice.

“Garak? That’s your robe, not a swatch.”

The tailor looked down at the fuzzy cloth being wrung in his hands. So it was. It had revealed one of his knees, and he quickly rearranged the material to cover the gray skin back up again. 

Julian’s eyes tracked the movements, and trailed from Garak’s knee to his leg, his face gaining a darker hue. “Nice legs. You look like you work out a little, too.”

“A little,” Garak admitted, secretly preening. 

“Any requests?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, if you’re going to be here for the show, you might as well tell me what you like.”

Garak was _so_ very glad he hadn’t brought out any sharp implements, because he would probably have stabbed himself. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean. But don’t let me distract you. Just do…” he flapped a hand, “whatever it is you think you need to.”

Julian spit out a noise that sounded like “Pfft,” and lowered himself parallel to the ground and started pushing off repeatedly, using just his arms. 

Garak had never seen such a thing before, and it looked more than a little obscene. Why, the human was practically humping the floor! He had to be taunting Garak; that couldn’t possibly be a real exercise.

“What do you call that?” he asked, struggling to maintain his composure. All thoughts of textiles flew right out the wormhole.

“Pushups.”

That was certainly what he was doing. “And what planet do they originate from?”

“What? Earth.” At a thirty-count, he stopped. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. Please continue.” He was getting anxious to see what the next performance would be, and just how well he could withstand it. What body part would be exhibited next?

Julian inched over in his direction and hooked his toes under the sofa, then laid on his back and tucked his hands behind his head, elbows out and knees in the air.

Garak felt his eyes grow round but couldn’t help himself. The last time he’d seen anyone _willingly_ in that position had been a pornographic video about a young Starfleet officer who’d been captured and interrogated by a Romulan soldier. The only way this could get _any_ more forward would be for Julian to relocate directly between his legs.

When Julian sat up and bent his elbows to his knees, Garak jumped. But he just flattened out and counted, “One.” He repeated the movement for quite some time, long past two minutes, and Garak couldn’t do much else than gape. That explained his tight waist and trim back, if it really was what he did on a nightly basis. But the tailor was still having a hard time believing any of this was part of an actual workout.

Somewhere past one hundred, Julian quit, sprawling out on the carpet. “I could do more situps, but I get bored after a while,” he said to the ceiling. 

“Bored?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just like to change it up a bit.” He righted himself. “Garak, are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“My _dear_ doctor, I don’t think I could be much better.”

Julian gave him a funny look. “Well, if that’s the case, then why don’t you come out here with me?”

Garak had been wrong; an invitation was _much_ better. He stood up and smoothed out his robe, grateful that his body was capable of concealing arousal much better than a human’s. Even so, if this grew any more erotic, he was going to have trouble keeping himself from everting.

He’d had no idea the doctor was such a tease. Or that he’d appreciate it.

“Okay. Let’s do some partner squats. Face to face, or back to back?”

As if that were a choice. “Face to face.”

“Take my hands.” Julian offered his, palms up, and Garak slid his over the top. They grasped onto each other, and the human smiled at him. “Now, you’re going to have to trust me. We’ll both lean back and hold each other up.” They shuffled their feet a bit until both had a good grip, and stretched apart. “Okay, now down.” And he lowered himself like he was sitting in a chair.

Oh my. Garak did as told, feeling a low burn in his thighs. The folds of his robe began to separate, but it was long enough that nothing was revealed. What would happen if something was?

They held the position for a ten-count, then rose back up. “Again?” 

Garak nodded.

They descended again, but it was a little shaky. “Here, let’s try the wrists instead.” Julian twisted his hand loose and grabbed Garak by the wrist, forcing the Cardassian to do the same, then repeated with the other hand.

Garak hadn’t been held by the wrist in _years._ Not since Palandine. Jolts shot up his arms, and a tight pressure bloomed in between his legs. Still internal, thank goodness, but harder and harder to remain that way.

When Julian tugged him down again, their knees bumped. “Oops.” He grinned at Garak. “How’s that feel? Are you steady? It’s not too much, is it?”

“It… it may be a bit much,” Garak responded breathlessly.

Julian barely looked bothered at all. Who would have thought he’d be able to so ruthlessly maintain control? He easily hauled his partner back up, and held him by the arm. “Do you want to quit? Or try something else?”

 _Everything_ else. “Now Doctor, I am _not_ one to quit, as you should know by now.” 

“Are there any, uh, Cardassian exercises you’d like to do?”

Garak thought furiously. None of the ones he knew were particularly titillating. He’d have to make something up. Elbows, shoulders, hips? Standing? On the floor? 

He couldn’t think of a cursed thing.

But he’d never passed up a challenge before, and improvisation was a skill he prided himself on. So he took a seat on the floor, and Julian followed. He leaned onto one hand, and the other gentleman did the same. 

Perfect.

“Ah! You know this one already, Doctor?”

“Know what?”

“The Cardassian practice of the Mirror Stretch. Each partner takes a turn making a move, and the other must copy it.”

“Oh. Um. That sounds kind of fun.” Julian smiled gamely.

“It isn’t meant to be fun; it’s supposed to be a challenge,” Garak said sternly. “You purposely try to contort your opponent into a position they cannot hold.”

“I thought you said we would be partners.”

“In our culture, that can be the same thing.” Which truly was accurate. “I’ll begin.” 

Garak’s personal goal was for this to end as quickly as possible. To topple the both of them in as few actions as possible. Still resting on his hand, he straightened his legs out so that he was facing Julian and balanced rather precariously.

“A sideways plank! I can do that.”

Of course he could. And did.

“Now, for my turn, do I pick a new posture, or is there a limit to what I can do?”

“You may adjust only one limb. Or your head.” Garak’s arm was already starting to hurt. “You have 10 seconds.”

“Hm.” He set one palm on the floor, steadying himself as he thought. Garak did so, too. “No, wait! That wasn’t it! I was just thinking.”

“Too late, Doctor. My turn.” He picked the same hand back up, and held it facing outwards toward Julian.

When the human copied him, he pressed forward until their palms met. Both of them teetered, and reflexively entwined their fingers to hold on. They each pushed and pulled lightly as they wavered and locked eyes, both tense but enjoying themselves. 

Julian quirked one eyebrow, then gingerly lifted his top leg off the floor, about sixty centimeters in the air, daring his partner to attempt the same move.

Garak made an honest effort, but it was harder than it looked. He raised his leg, almost held it, and immediately fell forward. Onto Julian.

They both let out a little “Oof!” and collapsed onto the floor. 

Garak didn’t care in the least that he lost, because he most certainly won. He was, after all, on top. “Masterfully played, Zulian. You are a worthy opponent.” He squeezed the hand that was still interlaced with his own. “We should try this again, tomorrow night.”

“Heh. Practice makes perfect.” Julian looked pointedly at the body on top of his. “I can’t help noticing that you haven’t moved. Did you pull a muscle? Hurt something?”

“Not yet.”

The younger man swallowed audibly. “I see.” He took a gentle hold of Garak’s hip with his free hand. “About earlier.” It felt like days ago. “I--I meant what I said. About you and me. And waiting.”

Garak pressed closer. “And all this? Was this just a game to tease me with?”

“The… the exercising? I wasn’t trying to tease you.”

“Those were _actual_ exercises?”

Oh dear.

“Garak, did you think I was trying to _seduce_ you?”

“You mean you weren’t? Because it was very effective.”

“It... was?”

“Look where you are, Doctor.”

Julian swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “On my back. With a half-naked Cardassian spy on top of me. Oh god.”

“The gods are kind, on occasion. And I think you meant Cardassian _tailor_.”

“No, I definitely meant spy. I visited your mentor, remember?”

Garak felt another stir inside at the verbal sparring. “That was a long time ago, my dear. I’ve since given up that life.”

Julian tried rising in indignation. “No you haven’t! You’re still plotting, and lying, and… and conniving…”

Garak held him down, although there wasn’t much resistance. “Those sound like Major Kira’s words, not yours. You don’t _really_ think I’m capable of much harm _now_ , do you?”

“I _know_ you are! Look at what you pulled with Gul Dukat! Don’t act like I’m stupid, Garak. You’re probably one of the most dangerous people on this station.”

That might be the best compliment he’d received all year. “And yet, here you are, not just having lunch with the spy, but staying in his quarters, and sleeping in his _bed.”_

Julian looked almost angry now. “And that’s all that’s _going_ to happen in the bed. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh Doctor, I don’t need any more ideas; I already have plenty. I’ve had them since I first laid eyes on you.”

“That-- that’s very flattering.” He wiggled a little, and his breathing hitched. His pupils began to expand. It was like watching a prey animal be hypnotized by its predator. Lost, and aware of it, but unable to escape. “Garak…” His voice was almost a whine, and it was impossible to tell whether he was begging to be left alone or taken.

Garak lifted their clasped hands, and separated them enough to slide his thumb between them and rake his nail across the sensitive palm. Julian’s body clenched up, and his eyes fluttered shut. Something hot and hard nudged at Garak’s thigh, and there was an answering echo in his own groin. He bent over. “My _dear_ , precious Doctor. Tell me to get off of you, and I will. But it won’t change anything. You’ll still want me, and I’ll still want you. And we’ll both still be retiring to the same bed _tonight.”_ He rubbed his leg over the lengthening bulge. “It’s inevitable.”

Julian’s eyes flew open, a blend of panic and arousal. “Shower,” he rasped. “I need a shower, first. Please.”

Garak slid silkily off of him, releasing his hold. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Be my guest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having been in both Julian and Garak’s places (seducer and seduced, manipulator and manipulated), I can confidently say that I don’t think this is a particularly wise or healthy choice. But people don’t always make the best decisions, do they? Especially when mental health and self esteem are involved, and no decent support system is in place. Sometimes the need for touch and validation outweighs rational thought.  
> Am I speaking from experience? Many times over.
> 
> The term anshwar comes from AuroraNova, and chufa from TerokNorTailor


	5. Some Sort of Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple notes: People who suffer from mental health problems, including addiction and recovery, are still people. They make good choices; they make bad choices. Much of the time, they are still capable of leading a semi-normal life and making rational decisions. A lot of film and literature portray them in one of two ways: back to normal in no time, having undergone a miraculous recovery (DS9 and Garak, cough cough) or so impaired that they’re barely functional. The truth, however, is usually somewhere in between. I’ve spent most of my life in that gray area, and I feel like this fic is really encompassing that. So if you don’t like what happens here, I’m sorry but it does happen. And if it makes you uncomfortable, then either I sympathize that you can relate to it or I’m happy that you’ve never experienced it.  
> Either way, it probably won’t come off as dark as this sounds, and I promise there’ll be a… hopeful ending in the last chapter.

Julian practically ran to the refresher. He darted out only a moment later to grab his duffle, and dashed back in.

Garak watched with the detached amusement of someone older, wiser, and infinitely more patient. 

Or so he told himself.

It didn’t _have_ to be tonight, after all. It could wait. 

But he just didn’t see how that would make much of a difference.

The doctor had taken his supplies with him, which meant that Garak wouldn’t be rooting around for another dose of painkillers or explore what else was hidden away in the bag, so he settled on drinking a full glass of water. One benefit of experience was knowing that hydration would be key for the next two hours or so. 

Next, he changed out the sheets on his bed and fluffed the pillows up. Covered everything with a large, thick, black comforter, which he turned back to reveal a red corner. What else might set the mood..? The computer had a few generic playlists, so he turned on some low instrumental music, then dimmed the lights and replicated some candles, which seemed to be considered universally romantic no matter which planet a humanoid hailed from. 

When Julian still hadn’t emerged, Garak drank more water, then swore at himself, because he was going to need the refresher now. He considered incense, discarded it. Oh, of course. He dialed up a small tube from the replicator, and stowed it in the nightstand.

When Julian finally appeared, he was clad in only a towel tied about his waist, and his hair glistened with water droplets. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes uncertain. He scanned the room, and the occupant standing in the doorway, and muttered something under his breath that the UT tentatively translated as, “Fuck.”

Garak swept over, holding his arm out graciously in the direction of the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, my dear. I’ll just be a minute.” Julian could take a minute to gather himself and Garak could briskly take care of the necessary before stealing a quick snoop through the duffle that had been left behind. He picked through it until he uncovered a new hypo. It wasn’t triptacederine, but it wasn’t one of the weak concoctions available from a replicator, either. He applied it to his neck, then hid away the empty container for future reference. 

A few dabs of scented oil on various ridges, a glance in the mirror, hands smoothing down the hair one final time. 

He stepped out, and came to a halt.

The white towel that had formerly concealed Julian’s lower half was now folded neatly over the back of a chair.

Which left one very clean and very naked body under that blanket.

He assumed.

Doctor Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of an entire space station, was in his bed. 

This was more than a willing body, a pretty face. More than a lunch companion, a casual acquaintance.

This was a clever, knowledgeable, accomplished, passionate, and utterly _gorgeous_ being who was several years his junior.

Who was impressed by him but not intimidated, intrigued but not overly-enamored, who could give as good as he got.

Garak might be in over his head.

But that had never stopped him before.

He approached the bed, watching the candlelight flicker over his human’s skin, what he could see of the arms, shoulders, and chest above the blanket. Julian was propped up slightly, reclining into what looked to be no fewer than _four_ plush pillows now pushed up against the bulkhead. He flashed a shy smile and pulled the covers back for Garak to join him, but not far enough to reveal any more of his tantalizing body.

Garak sat down primly and regarded the open and curious but also timid face. He had his approach ready. 

The best way to convince someone how much they want something is to tell them they can’t have it.

“Are you warm enough, my dear? You didn’t have to remove all of your clothing.”

Julian’s anxious face turned baffled. “Yes, quite. I-- But-- I thought we…”

Garak gave him his kindest, most sympathetic smile. “Don’t you know anything about Cardassian courtship, Doctor? You _are_ living in a Cardassian installation, and have been interacting with my people for two years now.”

“I, um, I know that they like to argue or, uh, provoke each other. It’s considered flirting.”

“What a limited perspective you have. But no, I’m referring to _intimate_ courtship. Of the carnal sort.”

The deep rosy flush reappeared, spreading from the tan brown chest and up his neck and cheeks. “No?”

“I’ve mentioned before that Cardassians are meticulous about details, have I not?” Julian nodded eagerly. “You see, when two of my people choose to take each other as lovers, they proceed through a five-step process, each night focusing on learning their partner through a single sense.” Garak paused to make sure he had the human’s undivided attention. He did. “The first night is dedicated to sound, specifically voice. The second is smell.” He let Julian take a moment to imagine what that might entail. “The third encounter is sight, the first time they are actually permitted to see one another’s body in entirety. And what do you think the fourth night is?” There were only taste and touch left, and Garak was curious as to which his companion would find more provocative.

Julian considered. “I suppose it would have to be touch, since you can’t taste someone without touching them. Unless you only count touch as using the hands.” He cocked his head. “And that puts us on the first night, then? Sound? What exactly does that entail?”

Garak beamed down at him. “You describe your body to me. Every line, every bump, every color and texture. How each feels and responds. How you like to be touched. For my part, I close my eyes and listen, and do my best to remember every detail, because I’ll be expected to use that information at a later date. And then we switch.”

The poor boy almost looked disappointed. He screwed up his face. “And that’s all? That’s sort of… kinky. But romantic, too. And almost innocent? I never would have expected it of a Cardassian. Not someone like Gul Dukat, certainly.”

Garak smiled serenely. 

“But no touching at all? What about…” He pointed to the living area. “What about all that? You were practically all over me.”

“Certain liberties are allowed in the beginning stages. To confirm that the interest in reciprocated, of course, and genuine. But once the decision is made and the couple retires to a more _private_ setting, protocol _must_ be followed.”

Julian mulled it over, and Garak waited for him to complain. To be frustrated by his inability to pursue or achieve any form of physical pleasure. To state that he’s _not_ a Cardassian, and so _maybe_ they could bend the rules, just a little please?

But he didn’t. “Alright... Get yourself comfortable, and we’ll get started.” Wait, what? “Go on, lie down and close your eyes.” He puffed up his chest a little. “I’ve had subspace sex before; I think I’ve got a couple ideas.”

At a loss for the moment, Garak climbed under the covers, still decked out in his robe. It rode up a little, and he adjusted the material before easing into the pillows and shutting his eyes. This could be… interesting? Maybe?

He felt the tough mattress give as Julian readjusted himself close by. A hot breath blew in Garak’s ear. “Where shall I start?”

“From the top down should be fine.” 

“Hmm. The top down. Alright.” They had to be no more than a finger’s width apart, and the heat rolling of the human’s body felt even warmer than before. “My hair is a dark, dark brown, although there are several different tones if you look close enough. It’s soft and pliant, but unruly, too. It takes a fair amount of persuasion to make it behave.” Garak wondered if he chose that word in deference to their earlier conversation. “It’s also thick and wavy, and it feels absolutely _marvelous_ when someone plays with it. If you stroke your fingers through the back just right, I’m putty in your hands.”

Garak couldn’t help imagining the doctor as putty in his own hands, molded and shaped by his touch.

Julian continued, voice husky and wicked. “My ears are more sensitive to sound than touch. Fingers tickle. Lips are a little better. I do like… to have my earlobes sucked on. Especially if you flick them with your tongue.” Garak felt his salivary glands activate at the thought. “But that’s the outsides. It’s the _insides_ of my ear that really respond the best. If you lick the hollow, it’s very nice, and if you can get just the tip of your tongue a little deeper…” his voice lowered, “it makes me feel all hot and tingly.”

Garak did not squirm. He readjusted himself.

His own ear burned as Julian’s mouth grew closer. He could feel every moist breath, and was now dying to feel just one sweep of his lips.

“But it’s certain sounds that drive me crazy. A deep, throaty voice. A moan. Some tones just… resonate so perfectly. I can feel it inside, like they’re reaching into me and filling me up.” He took a breath. “ _Your_ voice, Garak. It’s liquid, and melodic, and hypnotic. Gods, listening to you rattle on over lunch drives me wild.”

Was this true? Had he really been torturing Julian as much as the human had tortured him?

“I don’t even care what you’re talking about. It could be Klingon opera or Romulan peace treaties, or how much you abhor William Shakespeare. But you speak with such _conviction._ And passion. Especially…” He exhaled slowly, drawing the moment out. “Especially... when you are… so… absolutely… full of targ shit.”

Garak’s eyes snapped open. “I beg your pardon!”

Julian pulled away, eyes dancing. “You’re so full of it, Garak. I may not know _everything_ about Cardassians, but I’m damn sure they don’t break their liaisons into five nights of hands-free wooing. It’d take too much time away from their service to the State!” The smirk on his face was both infuriating and devilishly handsome. A knee nudged his under the covers. “I should have made you go first.”

Garak was glad he hadn’t, and silently thanked the stars that the idea hadn’t occurred to him. Although… “If what you said a moment ago was true, perhaps I _should_ have gone first. You’d be a quivering mess by now.”

Julian blinked twice and pressed his lips together. “But you’d also still be caught in your lie, so you wouldn’t be allowed to touch me.”

That sounded like an invitation, but he’d already assumed that once this evening and been wrong. “Does that mean I may touch you now?”

His partner nodded silently. 

But where? And what?

First off, he’d better get off his back. Garak rolled onto his side so that they were facing each other, both with an elbow over a pillow and hand holding up their head.

He let his eyes travel over the exposed lines of skin, the rises and dips of the blanket covering everything else. There was so much to choose from, an entire body at his disposal. If he was brave enough to take what was being offered.

He started with the shoulder, tracing a few fingers down the muscle, across the elbow, along the forearm, slowing over the back of the hand, dipping into the crease between two fingers, where he teased at the sensitive webbing.

Julian’s lips fell open and his eyelids fluttered shut. He was so charmingly receptive and responsive. 

Garak moved to the jaw next, dragging his knuckles along the tender skin and down the neck. He watched the throat bob as Julian swallowed nervously.

It was strange to see a body so smooth and unadorned. No scales, no crests or ridges. Except for two dusky brown nubs on his chest, which had transformed from nearly flat little circles into tiny peaks as he explored. Curious, he rubbed his thumb over one.

Julian jumped and he made a tiny little whine as he breathed out. The scent of pheromones that Garak was growing used to increased noticeably. He tweaked at the bud, and received a little “Mmph!” in reply. He spent a minute just petting and testing, circling the outer ring, nudging, squeezing, gently twisting. First that side, then the other. It was fascinating that one was decidedly more sensitive, and he focused his attention there, rubbing his palm in wide circles over the tip.

Julian gasped, hummed. “Oh gods…” he moaned quietly.

Garak plucked at his treasure, and the human bucked under the blankets, biting at his lip. He opened his eyes, smoky and pleading. “Garak, I… I want to touch you too.” Without waiting for an answer, he started at the same place on the shoulder the tailor had, but traced inward instead, along his upper chest ridges. Julian followed them inward, his fingers rising and falling over each bump, until he reached the crest. His eyes had tracked along, but now he glanced up to ask permission. 

Garak took his hand and guided it to the inverted raindrop. He felt a hot finger on the raised lip, outlining the shape, then a thumb pressing into the hollow. Just like the one on his forehead, it was a perfect fit, and it sent a wave of heat from his chest downward. His body betrayed nothing, not a movement to show how he was affected. But he was painfully aroused, and if this continued much longer, then, well… _he_ wouldn't last very much longer.

He halted the exploration, gripping Julian’s hand gently in his. He kissed a few fingertips and smiled, getting a shy grin in return. “Roll over, my dear. I’ve always wanted to see your back.”

This wasn’t precisely true. Garak had always wanted to see _all_ of the young doctor, not any one particular spot. But having him face down served two purposes: one, he’d have to keep his hands to himself, which would make it easier to maintain a sort of distance, and two, Garak could disrobe without exposing himself to the visual critique of someone younger and much more fit than he. Of course, Julian would be sweet and polite, and he would never make a disparaging remark about the soft spots that had appeared after hours spent sitting and sewing, but if it was all the same, he’d rather keep his aura of mystery a little while longer.

The doctor acquiesced, and turned over onto his stomach. He seemed to debate whether to leave his arms at his sides or not, then lifted them up to cross under his head. Even better.

Feeling drawn as if by a magnet, Garak opened his robe and slipped over Julian, straddling the lusciously curved waist. The feel of hot flesh between his legs was more stimulating than he’d anticipated, and he had to stop and gather himself for a moment.

He focused on the coppery expanse splayed out in front of him, brown angles and undulations that flickered in the candlelight, reminiscent of a bonfire among dunes in the desert. It reminded him piercingly of home, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and bury himself in the sand.

He scooted back and leaned forward to place a kiss on the lower back, a tiny dip above the buttocks. Another right above it. He steadied himself with a hand on each side of the mattress, and mouthed his way up the center line, where the indentation inverted to become protruding backbones. It was almost similar to a Cardassian spinal ridge, and he kissed every bump along the way.

Between the shoulder blades, the line sank back in, and he licked a stripe over the last length, extending up the neck until he reached hair. Julian shimmied under him, purring appreciatively. Garak flattened out, fully covering him, and the wiggle stopped. He could smell the pheromones concentrated here, by the scalp, and buried his face in the human’s neck. He could actually taste the chemicals, brought to the surface in tiny droplets of sweat that beaded the skin. He licked and sucked, enjoying the way it made the body under him squirm. Julian’s rear clenched up, and the rigid knot of muscles felt wonderful under his lower abdomen. A tight coil of want wound up between his legs, and he sincerely hoped the same was happening to his companion.

Remembering Julian’s earlier narration, he ran one hand up behind the man’s head, carding his fingers through the thick mane. The unrestrained moan was gratifying, and he gripped tighter, tugging the head up and back so that he could lean down and capture that keening mouth. Their lips locked together, opening and closing hungrily, alternately pressing, and nipping, then reopening to let their tongues lap and tangle.

Garak’s hips pushed down, and he clenched his knees around Julian’s hips. He moved his hand from the human’s hair to brace around his chest, keeping the body under his tightly arched against him. He ground into it, wanting to feel more skin, more friction, more everything. He left Julian’s mouth to kiss along his cheek, his jaw, and back to the neck, where he sucked the skin in so hard that he heard a noise of pain. In apology, he closed his mouth over the entire curve and pressed his tongue to the sore spot.

But it proved to be too much for him to resist, and the pressure in his ajan released. “Zulian,” he groaned as he everted slowly into the crease of the human’s rear. The press of skin on each side of his prUt was maddening, inflaming, and he shook as he dropped his head to rest on Julian’s shoulder. Unable to help himself, he thrust tightly forward and groaned again.

He wanted this. He wanted it so badly.

He released his hold to let the man under him rest back into the pillows, and kissed his nape, his neck, his ear, his cheek, almost frantically. “Zulian,” he repeated. “I want you in the worst way. The best way. So much so that I feel like I’m losing my mind.” He kissed the corner of his lips. “Tell me I can have you.”

He twisted his waist so that his prUt nestled lower and deeper, seeking access.

“Garak…” Julian clutched at the pillow under his head. He pushed backward against the prodding organ, body betraying his desires. “Oh… you feel so good. But.” He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in unevenly. “But what if this isn’t real? What if.. you’re just using this--and me--to replace the high you could get with the implant? What if you’re just relying on physical pleasure to avoid dealing with your feelings?” He opened his eyes again, trying to steal a look at the man panting over and behind him. “I came here to help you, and I don’t-- I don’t know if we should be doing this.” 

The heat roiling inside Garak tamped down. “Zulian, I understand your reluctance. You feel responsible for me, and for everything that happens between us. But please do give me some credit. I am still capable of making my own decisions.” He bussed the golden brown shoulder. “ _And_ facing the consequences.” 

He ran his hand through Julian’s hair again, willing the both of them to calm down. “I have a solution for you, my dear. It’s simple. Let me take control; let me lead the way.” He nuzzled into the human’s ear, aware that both his proximity and voice would be doubly effective there. “Surrender to me.” He reached down to take a hold of himself, nudging his tip deeper into the cleft, teasing them both ruthlessly. “We don’t continue unless you say it. Say, ‘Elim… I surrender.’”

It was the use of his first name that did it, he thought. Julian trembled beneath him. “Elim, I--” He closed his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed. “I surrender.”

“Oh, my beautiful, wonderful Zulian.” Garak leaned to the side and fumbled the small tube out from his nightstand. All members of his race generated enough lubrication for eversion and penetration, making copulation easy. But only some humans did the same, and his dear doctor was not one of them. Kissing and nibbling at the delicate skin across Julian’s shoulders and back, he hurriedly applied as much gel as he could. It was slick and silky, even more viscous than his own, and he hoped it was sufficient to smooth the way for their joining and to please his lover.

He tossed the bottle aside and centered himself, lining up to enter. He rubbed one hand over the plump backside, cupping a handful and squeezing, then drew it aside to gain better access.

“Wait!” Julian said breathily. “Garak-- Elim, just a second.” He turned back and attempted to meet the tailor’s eyes. “Could we… I’d really like it if…” He ducked his head timidly. “For our first time, could we be face to face? I want to see you. I want to… to hold you.” He blinked a few times. “Please, Elim?”

Garak couldn’t believe his incredible fortune. To be able to watch that face as he took his pleasure? To see those eyes, that mouth, to watch every twitch and flutter and gasp? “Yes, Zulian. A hundred times, yes.”

The human’s face glowed with delight. As soon as Garak lifted, he flipped over excitedly, reaching up immediately to cradle the other man’s face and pull it down into an exuberant kiss. Garak met it eagerly and started to ease his body back down, but was stopped by a hand against his chest. “Seeing as this isn’t a _proper_ Cardassian courtship, could I see you?” Julian pleaded. “Touch you? It’s so dark in here, and I’ve never been with a Cardassian before.”

Garak felt distantly pleased that he’d be the first, but he wasn’t quite ready to be put on display yet. “I don’t suspect this is a proper courtship by _any_ standards, my dear. At least, not for anyone but us. Is it so important to see with our eyes? Why not with the rest of our bodies instead?”

One side of Julian’s mouth turned up. “Mm. Is it possible that you’re just a little bit shy?”

“I am _not_ shy!”

The human simply laughed and angled up to kiss Garak on the forehead. “How silly of me.” He dabbed one more peck on the ridged nose, and lay back again. “Have it your way. For tonight. But next time, I hope you’ll be more comfortable with me.”

Could Garak have found anyone so endearingly compassionate and sweet? Joining with Julian was going to be one of the highest privileges in his dark and jaded journey. He sank back down, slowly, and a jolt flared through him as their erections met and slid along each other. Short, dense hairs around Julian’s scratched at his irrlun with a curious tickle. On his elbows, he sensually rocked forward and back, and let the organs do their own exploration, skin to skin and length to length.

He watched in rapt fascination as Julian tossed his head back, throat and chest rising as his lips parted. It was so incredibly erotic that Garak forgot to move for a moment and just took the sight in. But then the human reached down between them and grabbed both phalluses and began pumping. The slick of Garak’s fluids plus the gel propelled his hand in a silken glide up and down their lengths. He snaked his own hand down to join Julian’s, wondering at the feel of the unfamiliar organ. It was covered in a thin but leathery coating, rock hard underneath, a contrast to his own wet and spongy but stiff prUt.

They stroked in synchrony for several minutes, speeding up until one or both of them would whimper and then slowing down again. But they were drawing progressively closer to the edge, and if they didn’t stop, it was going to end right there in their hands, and Garak didn’t desire that for tonight. “Zulian, oh Zulian,” he muttered, wanting to express his thoughts, what he wanted to do, but unable to form any other words. 

His dear, darling Julian somehow still deciphered Garak’s desires, and his free hand yanked free one of the pillows and shoved it under the blankets with them. He raised his hips and ground against Garak as he wedged it under his rear. “Elim, this feels… so good. Were you-” He moaned. “Did you want to…?”

Garak was already maneuvering himself lower between the human’s legs. He felt the way with his fingers, surprised at how tight and puckered the hole was, nothing like a Cardassian. Julian raised his hips in supplication, and Garak took the invitation to dip a finger inside. The muscles trembled and clenched around him, pulling the digit inward even as he dragged it back out. He played like that for a minute, watching Julian’s face screw shut in an expression of intense concentration as he buried the side of his face in the pillow and continued working himself below.

Unwilling to wait any longer, Garak wiped his finger on the sheets and set up to push his way in. Julian dug his feet into the pallet and raised to meet him. The tip of his prUt entered easily, and he plunged inward with a groan while his partner hissed and whimpered. He could feel the human stretch around him as he widened towards the base, but the most prevalent thought was how _hot_ it was inside. Nearly scalding. Like being dipped in molten lead. He pulled out and sucked in a deep breath, almost thankful for the cooler air for once.

But then he dove back in, and he felt like he was being _crushed_ by the tight, sweltering walls pulsing around him. With a moan, Julian raised his knees into their armpits and wrapped his legs around Garak’s chest, taking his member up to the hilt. 

After that, they fell into rapid heaving and thrusting, their labored breathing punctuated with nothing but grunts and yelps. Garak clawed into the sheets as he snapped his hips and Julian gave the same treatment to his back. Searing streaks coursed through him, straight from the human’s fingertips to his groin and he surged forward, burying himself as deep as he could go. He began to writhe back and forth, his body’s natural inclination as they sped towards the final moments.

It drove Julian mad; he started to cry out. “Yes! Yes, oh god right there!” As hesitant and calm as he had been earlier, he gave himself over freely and loudly to the bombardment, riding the rapid thrusts in uninhibited abandon.

Enthralled with the wanton exhibition, Garak deepened the movement, wriggling back and forth as hard as he could, and bent forward for a final kiss.

Julian met him, but only for a second. He jerked away and gasped out, then curled up and inward, keening at a higher and higher pitch until yanking himself up to tighten around Garak in a crushing embrace and spasm in release. A warm, wet drizzle coated their abdomens, and the salty smell of a seashore wafted up to their noses.

Garak dropped back down to his elbows and let Julian collapse into the pillows. He made to withdraw, but found himself still encircled by those marvelous legs. 

“You can keep going, Elim,” his partner murmured, voice rough but warm and tender. Julian ran his hands up and down Garak’s arms, then squeezed and rubbed with his thumbs. “My muscles are all loosened up now; you can bend me a little more.” 

Garak wasn’t sure what difference that would make until he leaned forward until their chests nearly touched. They were so close now that the waves of heat rolling off Julian’s body could be sensed by every ridge and crest, and the angle provided just the right pressure on the underside of his prUt. He jostled his hips experimentally and received a brief squeeze in return.

He pulled out and pushed back in again, watching Julian’s eyes as he did. They’d gone from lidded in lust to unnervingly focused, from an almost dusty green to earthen brown. His body arched upward in invitation to take more.

After he’d already given so much. 

Garak felt pinned by the stare, and his roiling emotions backed down; he felt almost guilty at having accepted gift after gift of tokens of affections, and now taking his fill of the human’s physical being as well. He slowed, every retreat and insertion drawn out into doubt and recrimination. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t help himself, but now he couldn’t drive himself to completion either. 

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Julian’s, unwilling to meet the frank and guileless visage.

A hand curled around his neck and fingers wove into his hair. “Elim.” He could feel the name against his lips. “Look at me.”

Still moving in a shallow, curving inward drive, he lifted his head. 

The fingers skimmed over his scalp comfortingly. “You aren’t taking anything it’s freely given,” Julian spoke quietly, returning his own words from earlier. “It’s okay.” 

How had he known…?

Garak ceased moving, nestled deep inside. He was starting to grow tired, and his arms were sore, and he suddenly noticed how dry his mouth was and chafed his lips felt. He opened his mouth to speak, but Julian beat him to it.

“Did you know that I have almost perfect recall?”

Garak froze, baffled by the non sequitur. 

His lover's eyes crinkled slightly. “Elim, I understand your reluctance. You feel responsible for me, and for everything that happens between us. But please do give me some credit. I am still capable of making my own decisions. _And_ facing the consequences.” 

Hmm. 

“I have a solution for you, love. It’s simple. Let me take control; let me lead the way.” His eyes pierced into Garak’s. “Surrender to me.”

Something both hard and soft coiled in his chest at the suggestion. He could feel the blood drain out of his head, headed for not just his crotch but all through his torso, swirling and blooming in confusing ways. 

Julian closed his eyes and rose up to bring their lips together. They kissed once, twice, tongues just barely flitting out for the briefest touch. “Say you surrender, Elim,” he breathed out. “Let go.”

Garak was so tired of doubting. Of despairing and regretting. Of fighting the demons in his head.

He’d already come this far; he might as well finish what he started. He drew up his knees to take more of his weight. 

Julian opened his legs wider and slid them down to hug Garak’s waist, anchoring his heels just under his rear. He ran fingers down from the Garak’s hair and over his neck, along his vertebrae, in the sensitive flesh lined up beside the scales. The Cardassian shivered. Despite the overtly submissive position, Julian had somehow gained the upper hand. “Do you surrender?”

Garak pulled away, then lunged back in deeply. There was some sort of response from his partner, but whether it involved words or not he couldn’t say. He thrust several more times, roughly, and felt the whole mattress move with them. Harder, faster, he gave himself up to the automatic motions. Julian’s nails raked down his spine, and something in his brain shut off. Everything faded out except for the thrumming in his arms and legs and the roiling simmer in his gut, the rhythm and feel of the divine being under him.

Their movements became more of a frenzied thrashing than a steady beat, and the fierce churning between his legs grew hotter and insistent. A stabbing pain shot through his skull, but it was almost immediately drowned out by the caress of Julian’s cheek against his own. He rubbed back. So close now. “Zulian... I surrender,” he choked out.

His name fell off Julian’s lips like a blessing, and he was drawn down. He was barely aware of his legs being straightened out, being rolled onto his side, then his back. But the sudden weight on his waist as he was ground into was extraordinary. He raised his knees to make a seat, and Julian truly did take over, riding him feverishly, his rear slamming into Garak’s thighs with every backwards plunge.

Garak thought he’d relinquished all control, but as he was rapidly driven out of his mind, he realized that _this_ was what it felt like to finally… just… let go.

The body on top of his milked him mercilessly, the hands pushed his chest hard into the mattress. It felt as if he was climbing a summit, rising over the desert below, nearing a sharp peak that could impale him if he didn’t make it over all the way. But Julian threw him right over the tipping point, and rather than tumbling down the rocks below, he sailed right into the sun.

His whole body was swallowed in a wave of fire from head to toe, and it felt like a dam burst as his rain and seed spilled out of him and into Julian’s channel. Time stopped, and he floated in the void for an eternity before details and reality began to seep back in. 

The sheets under his back, beneath his legs, which had straightened out, the pillow scrunched up under his neck, the form draped over him languidly. It was a comforting sort of pressure, reassuring. It amazed him that he’d never actually had somebody lie on top of him before. Not like this.

At some point he must have reverted, and now the only thing he felt between his legs was Julian’s peculiar human organs, gone limp and squishy, although still external and larger than he was accustomed to. Garak wondered… what it would feel like… if they were to... swap roles… next time…

But exhaustion washed in like the sea at high tide on a steep shore, and he fell asleep before he could finish the thought.


	6. Relapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re going to pretend that Keiko found the Chief’s plans for the arboretum and encouraged him to go ahead and build it anyway. DS9 would've had plenty of space, and you definitely need something like that on a space station.

He was back in the estate gardens with Tolan.

“Everything is so dry. Can’t we water the plants a little?” he asked the groundskeeper. “If anything catches fire, we could lose everything.”

“Fire can be cleansing, Elim. It burns away the dead parts and makes room for the living. The old is turned to ash, which enriches the soil for new life. You’d know this if you kept up on your scientific studies as much as your literature. Or if you attended a gathering of the Oralian Way with me.”

Garak was startled awake by an elbow digging into his lower ribs. He adjusted Julian’s arm a couple centimeters into a more agreeable arrangement. Looking at the serene face next to his, something young and hopeful and pure flitted through him, as if his companion had managed to leave a part of himself behind. Which was patently ridiculous, because Garak had been inside _him_ , not vice versa. 

He analyzed the feeling dispassionately, trying to determine its source and possible impact. It seemed to stem from the very center of his chest ( _not_ the lower left), and radiate outwards in a confoundingly jubilant manner, like a dance. It was not a sensation he was familiar with. 

It was different from simple happiness or contentment; _those_ were much too mundane to fit this. It could almost be excitement, although that word, too, seemed to be lacking. 

Unable to name what he was experiencing, he switched to examining how it affected him.

It made him want to… roll up in a blanket?

No. Roll up in a person.

Specifically, the one with him.

He wanted to turn on his side and drag the arm over his chest forward until the young doctor was snug against his back, warming and embracing him and--

Protecting him.

From what?

He didn’t know.

But the feeling was sinking lower now, settling in his belly even as something else tightened in his throat. What possible emotion could have such a profound effect on his body as this?

His heart began to race, and he was ready to diagnose it as some sort of perverse fear, some holdover from the implant in which his nervous system reacted unnaturally to hazardous situations. Endorphins and adrenaline. 

He was overwhelmed by a sudden and inexplicable desire to jump out of the bed and run away, to hide in the refresher, or under the console. In one of the upper pylons. In the arboretum, his occasional refuge when time and resources allowed. A place where he could bury his hands and troubles in soil, could fixate on pruning branches and removing dead leaves and tune out his troubles for a solid hour or so..

The arboretum, that’s right! He and Julian were supposed to visit in the morning. What time was it now? He scolded himself for his momentary lapse in self control and pulled a padd out of his nightstand to check. 0600 hours. 

He stowed away his device and dilemma to reexamine at a later time. For now, the two of them were going to have to hurry if they wanted to make “sunrise.”

Garak woke Julian gently to remind him of their plans, then quickly dressed himself while his companion left to “take care of a few things” in the refresher. The doctor emerged bight-eyed and fully dressed, although decidedly scruffier of the face, and still bearing the scent of the previous night’s activities on his skin. But then, so was Garak. They were both going to need a shower soon.

It had been Keiko’s idea to simulate the daytime path of a sun by lighting up one side of the botanical bay, travel across the ceiling, and descend the far side in the evening, and when the pair arrived, it was just in time for the “eastern” end to begin glowing.

They stepped into the hushed space, instantly engulfed by balmy tropical air. Garak could feel his scales loosen and spread, soaking in what they could of the humidity. Unfortunately, the water-laden air also served to enhance his sense of smell, which was entirely too distracting with Julian so close. He reeked of dried secretions from the both of them, and every time he moved, another whiff sent Garak’s mind careening back to the night before, playing flashbacks of several of the more intense moments.

Hastily, Garak headed for an offshoot of the path, only to discover to his dismay that his plight wasn’t solved; he was still carrying the human’s scent on his own skin as well. He bent over the first flowering bush he could find to suck in a deep breath of greenery and nectar, clearing out his nostrils.

To his relief, Julian stopped some distance back to study a plant with a thick blue stem nearly as wide around as him, with circular leaves forming an umbrella out of the top. He wasn’t sure if the doctor was deliberately giving him space or genuinely distracted, but he was thankful for it.

Garak’s feet carried him to the end of the walkway, where a few of his own charges appeared to be flourishing. Keiko had done a grand job of maintaining them for him; one of his orchids was almost ready to bloom. He didn’t touch any of them, aware they thrived best when left to their own devices, but he did run a routine check over the misting mechanism to ensure it was functioning properly. Which it was. 

He had a few other plants to check, a couple young bushes that he’d grown from cuttings, a few perennial Bajoran flowers that he’d purchased as bulbs. These tolerated handling somewhat better, so he cradled a few buds and stroked their leaves. He refrained from talking to them, since that was reserved only for when the arboretum was vacated, but he did smile at each and praise them proudly inside his head.

Julian wandered off on a whole separate path and to inspect more discoveries. He was definitely giving Garak breathing space. Accepting the opportunity, the tailor found a bench to take stock of his physical status.

His head felt marginally better (thanks to another hypo), much more clear, and he was definitely developing an appetite. The most noticeable problems he was experiencing were hardly problems at all. Due to his exertions the night before, his thighs were fairly sore, his shoulders and elbows a bit stiff, but overall, he seemed to be in surprisingly better condition than he’d expected.

His emotional status was something of a different story. He wasn’t quite ready yet to analyze what had happened between him and Julian, so he chose to examine the circumstances surrounding the event instead. It was clear in hindsight that he’d experienced a mood swing or three during the course of the day, which was understandable given the nature of recovery he was enduring, but he still hated it. And the fact that his own lapse in self-care had only exacerbated the problem made it even worse. The loss of control over something as basic as emotion--something he’d become very proficient at managing decades ago--was rather disheartening. The fact that his altered frame of mind had resulted in finally winning the young doctor into his bed (both literally and figuratively) bore little consolation; it had the potential of redefining or even destroying their relationship, and when it was really the only one he had… well, that too was unsettling. 

His companion materialized a few minutes later, twirling a fallen petal in one hand. He let it drop as he drew closer to Garak and the bench, but he stopped just before taking a seat, and stole a few furtive glances around the bay. “Is it alright if I sit by you?” he asked quietly.

Garak wondered at the uncharacteristic hesitance. “Of course, my dear. There’s plenty of room for two.”

Julian dipped his head and looked away bashfully. “I meant _next_ to you. Like touching.”

Ah. It wasn’t clear whether he was nervous about being seen cozying up to a rumored spy or acknowledging Garak’s penchant for privacy, but it showed a certain amount of forethought before taking action. The awkward young CMO was growing.

Garak wouldn’t have minded spending the better part of an hour close together on the bench, just talking about plants (and _not_ last night) and enjoying the ambience, but he was also worried about someone dropping in on them and drawing the wrong conclusions. Although what the right conclusions were, he wasn’t sure of either. Instead, he rose as gracefully as possible and sketched a little half-bow. “Why don’t we save that for breakfast instead? I believe I’m ready for a morning meal.”

The quick curl of Julian’s lips into a delighted smile made Garak beam back. When he did, the doctor tipped his head to one side and analyzed him. “You’re looking a little healthier today. Or maybe it’s the arboretum that agrees with you.”

Garak led him back towards the corridors. “While the land covering my planet is currently 95% desert, my ancestors lived in much wetter, more temperate conditions. Another reason why the saunas and bathhouses are so important to our people.”

“Oh! So when we get back, shall I take to misting you? Your scales are practically glowing now. I’d hate for them to go dull.”

Garak knew when he was being teased, but he played along. “That would be most satisfactory. Once an hour should do. But only mineral water, warm, and with a fine spray. Nothing that will drip all over the carpets.”

Julian bumped into him cheekily. “Well, you might as well just walk around naked, then, so we don’t have to spend half the day dressing and undressing you.” He smirked as he passed, and his long legs carried him away too fast for Garak to get in a fitting reply.

Once back, they sat across from each other instead of side by side, but Julian did occasionally nudge his foot under the table when he made a point. He blushed the first few times, like when they’d first started dining together, and hid behind his Tarkalean tea.

They moved on to showers next, with Garak insisting that his guest go first. He spent the brief time during Julian’s absence straightening out the bed and the room around it, which mostly consisted of recycling the candles and folding the human’s discarded clothing.

When his own turn came, he used about 2 minutes of water with soap to clear off any remaining residues from the night before, then finished off with a quick sonic cleanse. His fingertips started buzzing strangely, but they didn’t hurt, so he took a few more minutes to work on his hair and straighten up the items that his somewhat-scattered visitor had left lying around.

By the time he finished and left the room, his toes were buzzing too.

Julian looked up from where he was arrayed diagonally across an armchair, one leg draped over the side and reading a medical padd. “Since you’re dressed, should I assume you’ve been properly misted for now?”

Okay, so a little mess in the bedroom and refresher might be worth it just for greetings like that. “Why Doctor, are you trying to get me out of my clothes again?” He received a saucy raise of the eyebrows in return.

Garak sat behind his console to check a few messages and do a quick search for what could be causing the twinges in his digits without alarming the too-observant gentleman a few meters away. The messages yielded nothing of import, and the search suggested anything from vitamin deficiency to nerve damage. Unfortunately, the latter was a real possibility.

He grabbed a padd at random from the desk and headed for the couch. Halfway there, a lance of pain knifed up his left leg, and his knee collapsed. He caught himself, and the padd, in time to avoid an embarrassing sprawl on the floor, but as the burning line continued upward, he leaned into the bulkhead and eased himself down.

Julian was there only a moment later, having run for his tricorder. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Garak tried to keep his voice level. “Just some parting gifts from the implant, I’m sure. Nothing to worry about.” His hands and feet were humming now, and a prickling sensation broke out over his skin. It was getting worse. “Although… I do seem to be experiencing some strange sensations in my extremities. And pain in my leg.” He couldn’t even control the wince as a similar streak shot through his right arm.

All business, Julian helped him to lie down on the floor so he could run a few diagnostic tests. “Can you hold on for a few seconds while I determine the cause, or do you need something right away?” 

Garak gritted his teeth. “I’ll manage.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Of course you will.” He ran the tricorder over Garak’s legs and arms first, then apologized and ran a scan over his head as well. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Garak clutched at the hem of his tunic, trying not to rip the fabric but needing something to grab onto. “The bad news first, please,” he grated out.

“The bad news is that your nervous system seems to be in a bit of a state of flux. It’s sending all sorts of confused signals. From what I can tell of your other systems, I think what happened is that since you haven’t been eating well, you’ve started using up some of your, um, fat reserves. But fatty tissues store more than just fuel, so they’re currently releasing some of the toxins that built up while you were using the implant.” His face was sympathetic. “The good news is that it _should_ be temporary, and I can probably find something to deal with the effects until it subsides.”

An immediate sense of relief swept through Garak, and his shoulders unclenched infinitesimally. “Then please, my dear, help me to the couch. This floor is only increasing my discomfort.”

Julian looked like he wanted to argue, but instead lent a hand, then an arm, a shoulder, and a waist to help Garak hobble the remaining distance. He might look like he was made of twigs and string, but he really was stronger and sturdier than he looked, and Garak gratefully let him take some weight.

Once there, he fought the impulse to curl up in a fetal position and instead stretched out on the cushions, then clutched a decorative pillow to cover his face as the lights started to grow too bright.

After a few agonizing minutes, he sensed movement at his side. “Elim,” Julian whispered. Garak had forgotten how sweet it sounded. “I’ve turned down the lights. And I’ve got some medicine here. Three types.”

Garak removed the pillow to show that he was paying attention. The lights were all of the way off, actually, with only a dim glow from the heat lamps. The screens of various medical devices glowed brightly from the table.

“The first is just a local anesthetic. It should numb your arms and legs, which means you probably won’t have much use of them, but you’ll remain conscious.” While remaining lucid was preferable, the loss of mobility sounded mildly horrific to Garak. “The second is a strong painkiller that will interfere with your nerve signals that your body identifies as pain, but won’t stop them from sending _other_ signals, like how to move. It’s in the same class as triptacederine.” That sounded promising. “But it’s not _as_ strong, so it’ll probably only dull the pain, not stop it.” Damn. 

“And the third?”

“It’s used to treat various abnormalities in the central nervous system, and some forms of chemical withdrawal. It… I guess you could say it kind of _confuses_ the signals, and soothes all of the emergency messages. It’s not quite a depressant, but it has similar effects.” 

“And…?”

“It can make you groggy, possibly sick to your stomach. You might feel numb all over, and get a little loopy.”

Garak pictured a ribbon. “Loopy?”

“Discombobulated?”

The UT didn’t even try. “I don’t think Kardasi has an equivalent term for that.”

Julian scratched his head. “Well, in Bajorans, it made them light-headed and confused, so they acted a little silly.”

The prickling had started to spread over Garak’s scalp, and the line up his leg was working into his lower back. None of the options offered by the doctor sounded particularly encouraging, but he didn’t think he could stand to remain like this, either.

The first would make his arms and legs useless, so that was out. And considering the high levels of triptacederine he’d had to abuse before, he doubted the second would do much good. Which left the third.

“What is the last one called?”

“Chlorezipam.”

Not that it mattered. “Use it.”

“You’re sure?”

No. “Yes.”

The hypo pressed low on his neck and hissed. He waited, counting bars around the edge of the ceiling. At eleven, he began to grow dizzy. By sixteen, something warm spread through his torso. Around 27, his arms and legs began to relax, and the buzzing stopped. He lost count in the thirties. 

Julian knelt next to him, observing vigilantly. Garak suddenly found the urge to pat him a couple times and tell him he was a good doctor.

The next thing he noticed was that his body felt _heavy_ . Like it was a bag full of sand. But the rest of him (what else was there, though?) felt light. Like _Elim_ was floating slightly above the flesh. He turned his head to look at the figure next to him. “Am I still here?”

A soft, amused grin flitted across Julian’s face. “Yes, you’re still here. And so am I. How do you feel?”

“The pain is gone.” Not just diminished, _gone_. It must have slipped off somewhere. Perhaps it was hiding in a dark corner, coward that it was. 

“Anything else?”

Anything else what? There was something else he was supposed to say. “You’re a good doctor, Doctor.”

Julian blew out some air in a small laugh. “Okay, I think it’s working. Can you sit up? Do you want to read now, or maybe watch a movie?”

Garak thought on it. “I want you.”

The human’s eyebrows shot up. “You want me…?”

“Next to me. With me. Here.” But not on the floor. “On the sofa.”

“Oh! Okay. Let me just put some stuff away. I’ll be right back.”

Garak waited patiently, studying the panels directly above him this time. They were gray. And square. Odd. Cardassians usually preferred sweeping lines and arches. He certainly did, at least on architecture. There was something to say about an angular neckline on a tunic that really set off the ridges. Perhaps the interior decorator should have become a tailor instead.

Julian returned, hefting what looked to be a very difficult pile of fabric. He carefully spread it out over Garak, starting at the feet and working his way up. It felt as if he were being gradually pressed back into his body again. When it settled in place, he pushed up with his legs and arms. It was heavy, but in a different way than he was. “What is this?”

“It’s a weighted blanket. Things like this can be helpful if you have sensory issues. I know you’ve got the medicine, but I thought it might still help. And it’ll keep you warm too.”

Warm. Yes, he _had_ been a little chilly now that he thought about it. 

The doctor walked over to the far end of the couch and lifted Garak’s feet. He slid in and tucked himself in the corner, and set the stockinged heels in his lap. “Is this alright? It doesn’t hurt your legs, does it?”

Garak frowned. “No, Doctor, it’s _not_ alright. I can barely feel you down there. Just what type of help can you administer from so far away?”

Julian cocked his head with a smile. “Well, I could rub your feet. I can still read to you, or turn on a movie.” That sounded far from satisfactory, although Garak couldn’t figure out why. The hand that rubbed soothingly over his shin felt nice, however. “There isn’t a whole lot of room here for the two of us.”

“At least move over to _this_ end then, so I can see and hear you better.” 

His feet were lifted again, and Julian climbed back out. He stood next to Garak’s head now. “Here?”

Garak partially sat up for him to crawl in, then lowered himself back down. Except his head was propped up at an uncomfortable angle. He rolled onto his side and tried again. The leg under his cheek was… rather stiff and bony. To his relief, Julian wedged a pillow in. 

Back pressed into the rear sofa cushions and head in the doctor’s lap, covered by the weighted blanket, he was actually quite… _cozy._ He wormed his way closer, and that really was a very peculiar phrase, but it fit.

Julian positioned one arm over his, and the other lifted the medical padd again. “Comfortable?”

“Almost, Doctor.”

“Almost? What else do you need?”

He needed _something._ Something moving. His quarters were too still. “Could you touch me?”

“Alright.” The human began petting his arm in long, smooth strokes. “Why did you start calling me Doctor again? Not Zulian?”

Not having an exact response, he deflected. “Why did you stop calling me Elim?”

A frustrated noise sounded over his head. “Because you stopped calling me Zulian.”

“Zulian.”

“Yes, like that.” The hand continued its ministrations. “I’d like to talk about last night at some point, but right now probably isn’t the right time.”

Something good had happened last night, Garak could feel it in his bones. But the details were a little fuzzy. “I liked last night.” He knew at least that much was true.

“Oh, did you? I wasn’t sure.” Was that amusement or sarcasm? “I did too.” That part was spoken softer, quieter. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I regret it. I probably should, but I don’t.”

“That’s good. Regret is a pointless emotion. A waste of time and energy. It doesn’t accomplish anything.”

“I had a teacher once who said that regret is a poison that we serve ourselves until we learn to set the cup down and walk away. It kind of stuck with me.”

Garak’s chest ached at that. It felt important, like something he should know. _Regret is a poison that we serve ourselves._ He should remember that.

...What had they been discussing?

Julian’s fingers traced a circle on his upper arm. “I have to admit that when I came back here yesterday, this wasn’t exactly what I pictured. I never would have expected that you’d be snuggling into my lap, or that we’d… um, you know, last night.”

Garak reached up to tuck his fingers under the leg. This was snuggling? It wasn’t so bad. It was warm, and soft, and soothing. Julian readjusted to card his fingers through the dark, slick hair. Garak just stared out across the room for several minutes, content to feel nothing more than the tips combing over his scalp. 

The medicine… There was medicine in his system. He knew, in a foggy way, that it was messing with his brain, his thoughts. But he couldn’t dredge up enough indignation to care.

“Are you still awake down there?”

“Yes, my dear. But I am feeling… drowsy. Do you think you could lay by me? Until I fall asleep, anyway?”

There was a pause. “The couch isn’t very wide; there’s not much room. But I can try.” Julian started to rise, then sat back down. “In front of you, or behind?”

There was already something behind him, so… “Front, please.” The legs under him pulled out cautiously. The next thing he knew, Julian was sitting in the curve of his stomach and tipping onto his side. The cover constricted over him. “No, no. Come under the blanket with me.”

The doctor sat back up and looked over his shoulder. “I think I might overheat if I do. I adjusted the temperature settings, so it’s already awfully warm in here.”

“Then take your clothes off.”

Julian turned further and scrutinized him. “This isn’t just a ploy, is it?”

He looked so suspicious. It was darling. “Whatever for?”

Incredulous eyebrows were the only response.

Garak stared back.

With a huff and an eye roll, Julian pulled his shirt up over his head, then stood up and dropped his trousers. He turned about, giving Garak his first close-up glimpse of the human’s mostly-bare form. No ridges or crests, no scales, completely unadorned. _Like a statue_. His race must be absurdly easy to carve. And sculpt. 

The corner of the blanket lifted, and Julian eased inside. He scooted backward until they were aligned, and Garak’s whole frontside was bathed in blessed heat. It was better than any bathhouse, better than a sauna. He wrapped his arm around the compact chest and pulled it as close as he could, feeling like a regnar trying to crawl into its burrow. Unable to do the same, he slid one knee forward and wedged it in between Julian’s legs. They gave way and closed back around him. 

He buried his face into the neck and took a strong breath of concentrated human musk. It remained somewhat alien to his senses, but the core of it was still _Julian_ , and that made it more than acceptable. 

With pressure on his back, his chest, and even over his side, he knew that he ought to feel restricted, maybe even confined (the _other_ word remained locked away in a closet), but instead everything was just blissfully close and warm.

And _then_ … Julian’s hand slipped over his, and laced their fingers together, and… the universe just sort of tipped to the side, temporarily dizzying him. His body started thrumming, but not in the disquieting buzz from before. This was his blood, not his nerves. 

“Elim?”

 _He called me Elim_. “Mmm?”

“Is this better? Are you comfortable like this? I’m not squishing you, am I?”

“You ask too many questions, my dear.”

Silence for a few seconds. “You didn’t answer any of them.”

“Don’t you think I would tell you if something was wrong?”

“ _No.”_

Well, he was right. He hugged the body in front of him closer. “I do believe you’re learning, my dear.” Julian tried to roll over with a rebuttal, but he was held firmly in place. With his chest and lower leg pinned in place, all he succeeded in doing was wiggling his hips. Garak’s lower region appreciated the effort. He’d have to replicate it, sometime later, when the rest of him could enjoy it as well. For now, though… “Hush. I’m fine. You’re fine. This is all-”

“Fine?”

“Yes.” 

It was better than fine, really. Wonderful. Possibly splendid. Garak wished he could find a way to sew this feeling into a garment so that he could wrap it around himself on long, cold, lonely days. If only he could keep the doctor with him. Nearby, within visual range, preferably close enough to touch. But even better would be just like this, or reversed. One of them engulfing the other like two spoons nestled in a drawer. Curious. The term “spoonhead” didn’t feel so derogatory any more. 

Garak closed his eyes. It was peaceful. But almost too much so. He wanted to hear a voice, one that was warm like honey in the sun, a balm to his frayed state.

“Tell me a story, Zulian. Tell me one of _your_ stories. Not a book you read or a fable from your youth. Something that no one else knows.” Garak had used this tactic several times in his younger years as an operative, and it worked unerringly well in intimate situations such as this one. But this time, he wasn’t manipulating someone for the sake of trust, or digging for vulnerabilities, for information that could lead to blackmail. He just… wanted to hear about someone who was… well, dear to him.

The doctor shifted a couple times, then relaxed. “Hmm. Okay. Once upon a time, there was a young student who was given the opportunity of a lifetime. He was awarded the position of Chief Medical Officer of an entire space station, deep in the outer reaches of the Alpha Quadrant. It was so thrilling that he quite forgot to be nervous or scared about such a large endeavor, so many responsibilities and dangers of moving into what was very recently the stronghold of a foreign power...”

Julian spoke candidly, describing his first impressions and experiences upon reaching Deep Space Nine. He related several things that Garak had already been aware of, like his failed attempts at friendship with the nurses and Chief O’Brien. Other things he glossed over, like the Chief Science Officer’s rejection of his numerous advances. He even shared his disastrous conversation with Major Kira and calling her home the “frontier,” and Garak chuckled over the infuriated expression he could picture on her face.

But the story seemed to be headed in a certain direction, and began to focus on one scene in particular.

“And when the tailor touched his shoulders, it felt as if every nerve in his body switched on at once, and as if all the sector suddenly filled with color. It was electrifying. And he knew without a doubt that from that day forward, his life would _never_ be the same.”

Julian recounted his first shy visits to Garak’s Clothiers, his overtures of companionship and transparent attempts at subterfuge to gather information about the enigmatic tailor’s past. Their first few lunches, the realization that they both appreciated a wide range of reading material. The easy banter they developed, and their ability to finish one another’s sentences.

It was so illuminating to be hearing everything from the other side. Garak hadn’t known until now how grateful Julian had been to find someone to talk with in that first year, how even in medical school he rarely socialized outside of study groups. How lonely he’d been. How Garak had saved him from countless solitary lunches, had nudged him into enjoying reading again. How excited he’d been to pick up new stories so that he could _share_ them with somebody, and pick them apart from every angle. How he thrilled in the challenges that Garak presented on a weekly basis, even when he knew the Cardassian was deliberately misleading or goading him.

It wasn’t just the story of Julian's life on Deep Space Nine.

It was the story of _them_. Of Elim and Julian.

Nearly two years of tea and intrigue, literature and philosophy. Lunches, walks, debates, jokes.

A story of two people, lost and searching for something they couldn’t define, and somehow finding it anyway.

The feeling from that morning snuck in, impossibly intimate and joyous. Tolan’s words echoed back to him. _“Whenever there’s clouds, Elim, close your eyes and feel for the sun_ . _May you live in the mystery of morning, always seeking the light of love.”_

The sun wasn’t outside of Garak any more. It blossomed in his core, a brilliant supernova fueled by the proximity and voice of the man in his arms.

It couldn’t be love. He wasn’t capable of such sentimentality; Tain had made sure of that. It had been beaten out, stifled in darkness, programmed away. But maybe it was something similar. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Tolan smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that's a wrap.  
> It didn't fix everything, and they didn't have a big talk, but it felt like a good place to end.


End file.
